The Poet

He accumulates oddments and curios, contrivances with strange gears, attachments that bolt unlikely parts together. Pieces of something he is structuring or assembling, a mechanism too intricate to be entirely recalled. He discovers these devises on the leeched rim of vision. Part of his mind burns with the light of a kerosene lamp. He does not want to waste much light on impossible projects, yet slowly he feels the inconceivable taking shape. He imagines stumbling across the last piece of a construct. Fingers search for connections. He realizes that his whole life has been spent building something once seen.