The House beneath the Moon

The rumpled pleats of shapely ash,

wildness pruned by sunken barn—

a peak bends beneath the sun,

broken iron set to finger buoyant clouds

a gable, rumpled, heaving on the breeze it names—

they rise and fall, and breathe so deep

the grass stained patter of a river’s game

like her little feet in the old moon’s shade,

a hovering cloud, a brushing touch

of years, unearthed, with the shaking of the wind.

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