Raise High
the Cross-beam, Carpenter

It was dressed quickly, but well. The wood is green, and was kind to the adze. There is only a day’s work for it to do, scaffolding for the spectacle on the hill, and then scavenged by the wood-workers, who will let it dry. I’m to carry it there. The soldiers have lifted it. I wait for the weight on my shoulders. It’s a long climb through the streets to the gate, and then further, but in sight of the city still. My arms around it, I turn my cheek to the beam. Smell the wood! Such memories. We start now.

— Peter West