Our House

As the leaves turn their backs on us And the lilac gives over to dusk, nothing Is ever certain, not even the house, stubborn In twilight as it outlasts the grove It was wrestled from. Those left behind. The oak and ancient elm, lean against each other As if in consent. Out of dirt, out of Some small mistake, comes the seedling; It too was learned to watch, as we walk in and out Of what wilderness was, and will again become, As we enter our home, the way we enter love Returning from elsewhere to call out Each others' names, pulling the door closed behind us.