Nearing the Old Place

Homespun birds won't

remember who lived here.

For them the slip was subtle:

One moment wings chose their own

direction, the next merely habit.

Now the flutter beats so fast

that past blurs into future.

My two houses stand side by side,

one gone but firm as the other.

In and out all things go,

like the rigid old dog who

played when no one was looking.

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