What We Leave Open

I have heard the great machines
working through the night.
There is good work in those rooms.
Elsewhere a laptop glows
beside a cup gone cold
and a question waiting to begin.

The question is not smaller
because the machine is small.

So I begin with the distance
between it runs
and you can use it.
I take a little waiting from the clock,
return a little room to memory.
An answer made faster
must not be broken
on its way.

I write down the missing step,
return for the failure
after the demonstration,
when someone is alone
with an error
and a blinking cursor.

They may arrive looking for a tool
and stay to mend it.
Their unfamiliar work
may show us what we missed.
The person we called a user
is teaching us what to build.

When a better way
makes mine unnecessary,
I will clear the bench,
carry over what is useful,
and begin again.

Tonight, a test finishes.
A small correction goes out.
I leave instructions
for the next pair of hands.

On a desk I will never see,
someone may open what we have made
and begin
where our imagination ended.