Month after month our view is boarded up,
a grotto; we persist in shadows
lit by just electric glare.
Know that outside, unreported
a garden full of fallen leaves is there.
Beside his heavy gloves, my friend lays out
the chosen tools: chisel, spud wrench
pliers, plum bob, spirit level
headtorch, hammers (both lump and claw).
And more. Daring me to say what’s missing.
We plan our movements, where to plant our feet.
How we’ll take the weight, sidestep torque
on hinges. Then minding corners feel
for the flush of an easy close.
Fix a quadrant stay to set the opening.
Watch daylight flood the room at last.
ii. 2026
