Post by job on Jun 26, 2009 11:39:23 GMT -5
Elegy: House and Home
The house is crying in its timber, its walls, its shadows
Because the proper realm of life has no yard
In which to play or work or bury its dead.
We are neighborhoods, not a community.
Our eyes ache with too much that grows by hand
And not enough that grows by root, cloud and hand.
We are gardeners without seed, carpenters
Lacking foundation. And, yes, grass without wind,
We know our secrets, but are too blind to play them out.
The house is crying in its timber, its walls, its shadows
Because the proper realm of life has no yard
In which to play or work or bury its dead.
We are neighborhoods, not a community.
Our eyes ache with too much that grows by hand
And not enough that grows by root, cloud and hand.
We are gardeners without seed, carpenters
Lacking foundation. And, yes, grass without wind,
We know our secrets, but are too blind to play them out.
