through the screened-in enclosure,
we see the world in front of us and the
world we want to see on both sides;
the handle of the broom lays on the
rail of the deck with the brushes
still in the pool where it belongs, only
to push water to the other side and
the ropes on the tarp, tied to the
rail prevent water from entering
the pool when it is not supposed to;
trees without leaves or blossoms
look old as they stand there waiting
for the spring to give them color
while the white pool steps continue
to bleach itself out in the winter sun;
mats on the doorstep, plaques
hanging down from the gazebo wall
tell us the home owners have long
since gone, leaving what they could
not carry for someone else to find;
light wood amid dark indicates repairs
with a burning color on some of the rails
has me wondering if this is not just a
replaying of a rather familiar song.
29Mar18
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