Have I mentioned that we Gurldoggs are looking for a house? I never saw myself as a home owner, but at this moment in my personal history, it genuinely seems like the path of least resistance. Poet David Wagoner has thoughts for the occasion.
House Hunting
The wind has twisted the roof from an old house
And thrown it away,
And no one’s going to live there anymore.
It tempts me:
Why not have weather falling in every room?
Isn’t the sky
As easy to keep up as any ceiling?
Less flat and steady?
Rain is no heavier, soaking heavy heads,
Than a long party.
Imagine moonlight for a chandelier,
Sun through the laundry,
The snow on conversation, leaves in the bed,
Fog in the library,
Or yourself in a bathtub hoping for the best
As the clouds go by,
Dressing for dinner according to what comes down
And not how many.
And at night, to sit indoors would be to lose
Nothing but privacy
As the crossing stars took time to mark their flight
Over the mind’s eye.
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