We drive through neighborhoods to look
at houses leafed in dusk-light, noting which
have corbeled windows and which
have shutters turning to the river,
where the sky has tinted the waters mauve
and wading birds touch the current
lighter than a skimming lure.
Is there a walk edged with green,
leading to a door of beveled glass?
Is there a span of yard
where old leaves on the evening
primroses graze the fluttery
new leaves on the witch hazel?
No one lists these other views:
the curl of chrome around
the refrigerator handle, the tiny
speckled orbs of orange scattered
across kitchen tile. I look
for your image reflected from
the shiny green side of a toaster,
listen for the future echo of footsteps
dancing up from the wooden floor.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
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:-) I love this. (Of course!)
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:)
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And especially the “skimming lure”–
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No one lists these other views:
HOME HUNTING
Lush hedges, iron gates, beveled glass doors,
patio doors opening to a river view of birds
on the wing and gardenia petals wafted
into rooms where there is no one there:
I was looking for a home. This is a house.
All it would have taken were those dancing
figures, reflections on smudged chromes,
the frolic of rolling oranges on speckled tiles,
kitchens redolent with burning bagels,
and those sounds we cuddle by as rain
patters like little feet on windows we will
look out of waiting for the peal of children
running naked through the rain.
—Albert B. Casuga
06-26-11
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http://ambitsgambit.blogspot.com/2011/06/home-hunting.html