here is what you have made

  
Here is what you have shaped with your hands,

In the sharp, warm smell of the sawdust,

With your big, black dog at your feet,

And your cool-climed eyes,

Here is what you have handled and smoothed,

Until it took on the warmth of your hands

And warmly breathed, transformed and cooled.

Here is the table and the bed,

The instrument and its slide,

The wide windows that drew all the light inside.

Here is my heart balanced on your palm,

Shaped daily as you will, but kept safe from harm.

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