Building

Nothing is the same after this.
Walls you have trusted in storms, in quarrels
now you put up yourself. Four inches
of two-inch-wide posts, filled in with paper.
A cover of plywood. More paper. Thin
layer of siding, out and in. Doors
in five minutes hung on their hinges.
Windows held in with glue.

Nothing is not
re-examined. Houses
you’ve lived in before, transformed
with paint, wallpaper, plaster. Neighbors
essentially different from you.
What keeps you apart.
The whole borrowed assumption of strength.