I used to think infrastructure
was made of steel
Now I know
it is made of hours
John is ill
the session moved further down the calendar
like a porch light receding through fog
and time —
time has started arriving heavier now
not cruelly
just with the full weight
of all that still asks to be born
Some nights
I feel myself becoming
both the cathedral builder
and the candle running out beside the altar
Still
somewhere above the scaffolding
the unfinished constellations remain
waiting for me
to name them before dawn