I Can't Imagine Being Dead

I want to sit facing east before
the San Jacinto peak at the
computer inventing the particulars
of a life that unfolds in my head.

First we must build the wall full
of windows where the lower plate
in the framing is bolted down to the
poured slab with the nuts cranked tight.

Long before that, on my brother’s
Chinese tractor, I must clear the pad
so the foundation trench can be dug
and the forms laid up for our house.

I know from the many years of my
eyes attempting to see things as
they truly are that the aching muscles
and little joys of building will soon

Consume me, inflating my sense of
living, like a first love all over again.
My mind races ahead to the glow plug
on the tractor springing the machine to life.

I must take a breath and do all the things
in the order required so that I can sit
facing east with my fingers on the keyboard
thrilling to the illusion of casting ideas in stone.