I am an architect.
My work will never be through.
Always longing for something better.
Or just something to do.
You weren’t part of my plan.
There is you.
I can set down my papers & troubles.
I can stand in the mess & the rubble.
I can see through half-started rooms
… through broken concrete …
… through windows with no panes …
… right into the street.
And my unfinished house is a home.
And my imperfect home is complete.