Houses    
backyard    
city    
village.        
 
Houses    
concrete blocks    
of bricks    
Of wood.         
     
Houses    
from childhood    
vacation    
d'adolescence    
today.        
 
All on hillsides    
to the clouds of the mind    
and I stayed silent    
along the road    
put away my toys    
one last time.        
 
Lots of island shells    
lined the lacquer box    
the drawer was full of capsules    
the toy cars were driving on the lino.        
 
There were tender moments    
of loneliness    
two with sister    
on the front of the house    
the cooing of pigeons    
and don't do this don't do that mom.        
 
The farandole rose    
happy chinese print    
laden with mist    
ravines and trees    
to the light    
a light of dispossession    
a light of down and plaster    
curling up like bindweed    
around the barrier of limits.        
 
A breath chased the writing    
a faded hovel on the edge of the forest    
saw enter the deferred man    
gratitude could come    
in wonder before the door of the invisible.            
 
 
 
 
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