(no subject)

Our meetings had been awkward and aloof:
I saw what he was doing, but not why.
Just once he waved me out onto the roof,
Led me so close to the edge that how I'd die
If such or so should happen was my one
Preoccupation as his fingers swirled
Before and above the roofworks of the world,
Explaining what they meant and which he'd done.

A point comes when your water level rises,
That share of air too thick to move around in,
However easily others do. This crisis
Hit me like night. The dawntime found me pounding
Nails into beams beside his ghost above,
Low in the sky such work makes attics of.