The job’s not perfect but it feels complete.
I see some minor damage and some flaws,
but I’ve declared it’s fine enough, and sweet
my solitary residence, because
I’m living now what I dreamt months ago.
I had to use imagination then;
I walked in mind through this, but now I know
results I’m loving daily. Even when
I’m tired, half-unfocused, still my eyes
find shapes and tones and textures bound to please.
The work that’s done and paid for gratifies,
and tradesmen’s dawn and dusk incursions cease.
I’m savoring results. My grin’s sincere,
for now I get to dwell well-furnished here.