The House

In the break, there was the beginning,
in the beginning there was the leak:

the sweat and blood that built a house
that would always break,

for it had been built by a being that bled--
a carpenter who carved his own mistake

in the wooden frame, to reassure a place
for his hand at the other’s stake.

Little hand made of wood, you are no more his own,
than in a dream--- the father and the tyke

scratched the itch with the same hand, not one
holding the other, but one asleep and the other woke.