Mud Shed

Muddy photographs at old house black birds hanging out bare and brave, sleeves of torn corpses and hanging bones by the brown door, but old man where are you? Are you one of those? No! Some one phoned me to come here and that some one had a warm,alive voice. Was that a man under claws,forced? I cut the handles, they fall into my hands and termites were biting the dust. Look, what kind of statue is that? On the stairway half blocking and half awe commanding, that statue of a lady with fresh flowers. How ironic to see such statues here and smelling of lavender and green tea leaves, like lotus in a pool of mud. But old man. Where are you? Are you side by side with the sun,as evaporated air? I don't know. If i knew i would not come.