Ex Nihilo

You work
The wood
Until
Your reach
The air,
The pulse,

The tender skin you know is there
Before it's there
Inside the splintered gore.

You shape 
The core
From dull and ugly grain
To lively supple
Limb,

A vibrant hand,
Particular beak,
Some rippled fur,

Your yesterday
In shavings round your feet,
Tomorrow chiseled out again 
From inarticulate
Dead tree.

- 8/21/25

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