Tuesday, January 6, 2015

But we are a house

But we are a house

foundered on a hillside
bottomed in a creek & crowned
by century redwoods. We are walled
w/ eyes recording weather,
dawn, Anna's hummingbirds & silver
fungi, fox & coyote, tomato-
gobbling fawn w/ parent
(parent another kind of house).

We don’t recall the hares &
Germán’s dogs in fruitless chase,
a hundred parrots grazing
out the north window of that red-roof
pale green house, vacant now
& likely wind burned, dust bunnied,
the dying willow once hung
w/ parrots a ghost beside
a second-story stained-glass eye
incandescent w/ desire to gain
someone new’s affection.

                                          But here
in what you call present time we are
a blue-roof pale brown, say it — beige
call it bone house. Is it so unlikely
you can learn to love us?

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