Friday, May 29, 2009

Door Tempo

The phrase, in a measure,
of a door's squeak.
Memorized to sneak
in after dark.

This is my house, now.
That was my home, before.

Bury the hearth in snow
or fog; she will remember.

Lodge a heart to the hilt;
it, too, will find a way to
snap the latch, blind,
and put its beat to bed.

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home