Green before me blurs a wall;
Intermittent orange breaks the monochrome,
Hills behind ****** distinct treeshapes above
The wall-line, trees and shiny SUV
And a little field.  Here, the wood is

Weak and termite-ridden,
Here, is a crumbling frame,
And here, no one
Is heard singing, singing—

Éste abandoned for a European long time,
Ése for an American, aquél surrounded     rusty silos
                                       a church, a storage unit,
                                country roads and pick ups

Filled with lumber to
Fatten up the fireplace,
Keep it warm for the winter,
Everyone hidden sheltered in the house
With hot cider and steam and the pine tree,
Surrounded everywhere by a white sea of snow.