Always a story
beneath the cold and quiet—
Always a nest being refurbished
under the springhouse eaves—
Always the smell of mud at the edges,
the window finally come unstuck—
Always a gnarl in the fabric
where the fibers knotted—
Always a smooth new trail
tracked around the village of scars
—Luisa A. Igloria
03 20 2011
In response to today’s Morning Porch entry.