Broken and abandoned,
The house has stood empty
Between woods and meadow
For twenty years.
From the side yards
Vines cover the shattered windows
And sagging porches.
Within, the house is empty,
Yet not.
Dust, filled with ghosts,
Creeps and roams in corners,
Then settles.
Lost in memory,
Bedrooms, kitchen, parlor,
Wait in silent reflection
Before gathering garlands of twilight.
In the attic,
Threads which once were curtains,
Sway on the dirge of a breeze.
Within the gate
Grass rolls like so much
Green fire.
Shingle by grey-weathered shingle,
Dreams gather
In once loved rooms
As the sun sets.
