Weathering

Yes her walls were grey
Stormslashed shingles
Paint removed in swatches
By the unceasing nor'easters

Weatherscarred wood
Fir with silverashen patina
But built squarely
Once snug
Now winterized
The house on the promontory
Struggles against the vacancy

Once wriggling children played
Chinese checkers
On a rag carpet
Too loudly
And their makers
Tipped glasses in
A gaslit greatroom

Now all's almost winter silence
As on her porch
The tornjeaned transient
With his half-cigarette
Strikes his wood match
On her platinumed fir

Which leaves a curve
Of blushing freshness
A half-heart
Reveals her new wood
Supple
Plangent
Under her disguising
Weathering