An abandoned house
once a home
The dust stay to tell
the termites come to live
as the owners of the wood.
A picture hangs on a wall
A story written in his eyes
A smile drawn
Though, as I look
closer and closer,
deeper and deeper,
I see an imprefection
I reach and pull the seam
the fabric lets go,
revealing what was beging to be told.


A thought implanted in a passerby
...
A seed, growing
...
A tree, roots spreading deep
...
Pollinating a forest
...


but,
no.


Though, I ponder
another possibility.


My eyes sparkling against the moon


Walking past
My own house.