David stropped the chisel on the heel of his hand,
Saying, a dull blade has a shine along its rounded edge.
The keenest blade has an edge the eye cannot see.
Let me look.
His god was at the edge without shine
Of David's chisel during moments when shavings curled,
And wood took on another form.
I can smell where you have cut it.
A collector bought the finished chair without
First sitting on it. He could not decide whether his god
Was David or the chair.
That man would enjoy your job.