Commons text
On Constraints
A sonnet.
For the maintainers, the shepherds, and those who hold the line.
We all have different constraints — this much is true:
one hundred sixty-eight, no more to spend.
Yet still the call comes through, to me, to you:
the bonds we hold, the breaches without end.
The need is real. Each expert sees, agrees,
affirms ‘tis urgent, vital, sound, and true.
But funding for such work is never free;
our commons gathers dust, untended, unseen.
So here we sit — the shepherds, holding fast
who hold the line for those who cannot see
what holds them up, what keeps the dark at bay,
who keep the fire, the watch, the vigil-tree.
Familiar with constraints — they are our trade.
We live inside the gap. We are not afraid.