Gloss this shopfloor world

“Tell me something I don't know,

something I will not regret

hearing. Tell me the good thing.

Golden words. Unkeep a secret.”

“No. The thing you do not have

words will fail until, footsore, hands

calloused, midnight watch stood, tool

handles slicked with toolcraft done,

sit beside the men that did with

you. Say the half-tale words.

Tell yourselves the bright track run:

words that only you can hear.”

“I am not just some young fool

naif. I know old men love

lies about their lives, tell tales,

wish they had not run out their

sap so fast or cheap. Sing out

hidden help. Rhyme Joy.

Only some ease do I want.

Give it to me. Say the words.”

“Thus is not the truth. Think no

words so fine, real. All good

things are done. Without names, God

has as will be done done, made.”

“Miser! Bring me aught well heard!

Gloss this shopfloor world.

Say the meaning. Some least light!

Otherwise relieve hard toil. Grief

comfort. Lull at least.

Open your mouth!”