I left my apartment windows open
— I am wild that way —
and the rainstorm ruined the place
to teach me a lesson.
I caulked the cracks in the plaster
and found patches from before.
I repainted the walls
and noticed the hasty paint job;
the corner’s curves giggled
as I lay down the painter’s tape;
my soul felt the healing
of wet, tender bristles
on the wood’s latex skin
over cracks, bulges, bumps, and bends.
This place was alive
with getting put together
and falling apart again.
I beheld its incurable quaintness
and brutal, undeniable charm.
Forlorn, I came to understand
I would only add my own mistakes.
I lay in bed;
the walls were mine.
The apartment
an awning of wilderness.