he'd spit on his hands,
rub them
together
before starting work.
coffee in,
the drive
to the site over.
a bag tools at his feet.
some wind
might be in the air,
the sun
not quite up yet,
the calm
of blue across
the empty frame of a new
house going up.
all his life,
this is what he did,
doing this one
thing well.
bringing him closer
to his faith,
and the prayer for
more work
and thanks for the nail
and hammer
in his hand.
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