The grain has swollen and started to lift

The grain has swollen and started to lift

under the sodium streetlamp’s yellow stare.

It’s a jagged, ugly, temporary shift

nailed to a frame that used to hold the air.

I’m walking past the hardware store’s closed door

feeling the way my own repairs have thinned.

I don’t know what I’m holding steady for

behind a wall that shivers in the wind.

The edges splinter, gray and soaking wet,

clinging to the brick with a rusty bite.

It’s the best I could manage, and yet,

it doesn't keep the cold out of the night.