The domicile wobbles. It’s bare and cold but
something of a smithy. Stuffed with resources,
materials raw waiting to be transformed
or already being driven to destinies lapidary.
The structure entire sits on a precipice.
An edge crooked. An end sudden and steep.
Anytime could it fall – crash and at once, burn.
Disintegrate. Why then does it attract – why
is it allowed to exact a severe investment
of blood and sweat? Of mind and muscle?
Because of it contrivances glittering can emerge –
making one streak across the atmospheric vault.
A fitting release and return for the fire