Farmhouse

The old farmhouse knows,

Moonlight on the floorboards where the roof went unrepaired,

Crumbled in by weight and mold and the shifting earth.

It knows that a bucket needs dirt, a beer

Needs the eager hand, and a bed needs a blanket that needs the bodies

Who need the Other.

Cold, abandoned farmhouse by the creek –

That bed has stopped rocking, the can is tawny and bent inward,

The bucket is lost; the stream keeps rushing.

Finally, the walls surrender, for the unoccupied room is a space with no purpose and so much potential.

Children collect for a scrap project, and families will stock up for winter.

Staggering farmhouse by the stream,

Prospective buyers test the makeshift bridge.

Abandonment is only the graceful passage of impermanence.