Pot Life

Before the finish, the priming
            of surfaces. The lag in time 
       aimed at maximum dryness for effective
bonding. And yet everything is pocked with  
            flaws from the beginning, rich with 
       the pigments of unevenness. Humidity 
in the air, the sill stippled with pinprick 
            drops. We desire smooth sheets, 
       a glass of cool liquid. The window 
cracked open to a breeze. However, whatever,
            here, now— despite what we know
       of water or fire, rusted bridges,
every event of astounding collapse.