What is going on with that house for sale up the street from Mather? We visited once— Yes there were concerns about the peeling siding and so forth And beneath those fears, slower aches How we were not sure that any of this would last, Looking at each other, at bonds coming undone, at the spaces between each other, the gaps with no words yet… But also there was the sunlight coming though the windows ringing the upper floor, fresh and empty, whiteness and light wood, the early morning practice space before anyone’s yet arrived, stillness unbroken by any bell— The tiny tangled shade garden. The porch walkway to nowhere, Nowhere except an end in itself, A space for a seat for a quiet look and a long thought. A long thought of a short future, A short life, A short and rich life, A space for a short and rich life With love blowing through, The sound of love carried on the wind. Wind who stirs the sidewalk trees and traces the people's bodies. Wind who bears smoke and ill news, The days heavy with import, Hope and collapse and tales of the clashing of giants, Earth’s shuddering. Love in the time of earthquakes, Love in the time of leaving, Doors opened, walked through. Why does this house reappear for me now? Who is selling this house? How do their dreams touch ours? What weave beneath already feeds us both, matchmakes and plots, eyeless sages calling forth new shoots? It’s spring now. Green desire Alive again. Rash urges to root. To collect and bind with twining vines, To grip with callused fingers. “Here, stay here, grow here, stay, stay, Listen for the sounds of the little ones to come, Here we can, somehow, despite it all—“ Spring again. ___ *March 2024*