Brevity.
Engulfed in flames
the Old Mansion burned to the ground.
Each and every door was left standing
Even the keys still worked.
The door opened to charred crisps under foot
Remains of such a Fine House.
Demolished within minutes
Raging flames that have soothed
to emboldened embers giving way to sacred indents
upon this borrowed land.  
The one thing that is very certain, and shall remain certain,
is that I don’t have a kid.

The men chuckle lightly, almost insinuating a secret.
Their eyes dart one to another, and I know this at least:
the men are horrible at keeping secrets.
“Why do you all chuckle?” I ask with complete and utter resolve.
Again, all their eyes darted to one another.
They dart back mainly at the Captain.
So I darted my eyes to see this secret message.
His eyes are dark, moody, all seriousness.
The message is unclear to me, yet instant for them.
Wind starts to pick up. The dry air swirls for mere seconds, dissolving into a broiling heat, contained in this valley.
High hills, and dry stretches bake us into a frenzy.
The men start to holler and yelp, as they do.
They all run to the pond. It is a very large pond.
There is another larger one behind the Barn as well.
These ponds were fashioned out of the earth by years of the non evolving men who claim stakes to this land.

What's the value
Of a diamond
When it's in the ground?
It's not even the worth of the gem
More the chance it might
Be found.

We should remember Leonard Cohen
And his Chelsea Hotel
         on days likes these

1983.
They homeschool at three.
Buried in junk mail.
Lines, curves and words.
Four and mommy
Teacher and daddy
Principle.
Lie. No outside. Men's law is not God's Law.
Babies come in a few fold.
Oldest resources resourced.
Ladies of old.
Doily and all, almost forgotten.
Stealth and sixteen.
Homeschool all for three.
Work at CoCo's age fifteen, hostess
With the ultimate mostess.
Abandoned dreams lost to babies
Three.
CoCo's, community college and me.
Saturation graduation milked and donned
For lessons.
Job well done.