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.