who is doing all this work on this old house? painting & repairing & paying to have it repaired a last-gasp house I’ll no doubt be pried out of when sense or mobility deserts me, yet this week I search with an electronic tool for wall studs pound finishing nails into baseboards my brother ripped to the chosen width, I measure, saw, & sand paint & repaint, all to better the appearance of hide the faults of a hundred-year-old house I trust will last decades longer than I will no paint or boards or nails can slow my ruin deepening fissures fill with tears from eyes too slack to hold them, not grief but leakage every night in dreams I play my younger self