Maladjusted,
A‑ self‑important,
Self‑styled prophet of brickdust,
Ornery in his refusals,
Nonce of the guild,
he struts the scaffolding
as if mortar itself
sows his allegiance.
Yet masonry is older than pride:
stone upon stone, a wall rises
from the rubble, arches bend
toward each other like
clasped hands, and even
the humblest clay
becomes a dwelling.
We build not with perfection,
but with what the earth gives—
shards, sand, timber,
the stubborn weight of granite—
and in the joining,
habitation is born.
.