Once
I had to return home
but
the door was locked,
the
house for sale and a stranger
had
to be called to open the door
with
a new key. The cypress tree
by
the driveway had been cut
down
when I was a child; the one
in
the front yard survived
the
subdivision until its branches
tangled
the power lines during
a
hurricane. But the impression
in
the yard is still there, though,
right
where the stump was,
suggesting
an eventual subsidence
into
original swamp.
Photograph by Yagan Z Dongobar via Public
Domain Pictures. Used with permission.
3 comments:
mysterious impressions
one just never knows
Dust to dust...
I love the eternal nature of surrender that your poem evokes.
sounds like the beginning of a novel.
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