Heaps of ashes that used to resemble a house dance in the wind,
Up and down, side to side and tumbling through the air like a
circus acrobat in a grey costume.
If I squint, they could be butterflies.

Neglected dust huddles quietly in the corners that are never reached by the broom.
Pots and pans lined in greasy film and crusted tomato sauce
fill the sink like waterlogged sandcastles on a humid beach.
If you look away quickly, you could pretend it was an art project.

Boxes stacked on boxes line the hallways, washed in buttery morning light.
Up and down the staircases, through the hallways, bumping into one another,
hearts fluttering like hummingbirds, we ran.
If you thought hard enough, you can remember how happy we were
that first day
in our very new house.