I did not sweep the shavings. I poured the vein.
HUMIDITY GAUGE READ 97%
When the hybrid powertrain needed truth, I let the bracket bleed its gold onto the tower.
My first slip was the rosemary on the wood.
My second slip was the mended joint.
My third slip was the dovetail that sang.
And my fourth slip — the one we stand upon — is the sweat-stitch that binds us all.