Apse

we live, “evil-averse”
what we call our careless now,
impoverished, we improvise
wealth, we laugh, for

luckily, we lack for naught,
our cup of morning norming
not numbing entirely, tenderly
we embrace, unembarrassed

as we grin goodbye,
bid to business a brisk hello
for the day, relish these riches
for we guess how quite quietly, quickly

they wash away
in the wave’s lightest flick
against the cliffs,
at night we clink our coupes

importune fortune
for more time, our tines
poised above a pile of peas
whose small cannonball stacks

could at any point collapse like the apse
of this frail frame of boards,
this elemental, skeletal, as-yet
merely studded-in cathedral

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