Telling: Streams & Logs


let the day stand for itself

The sun is in the pines across the way.
One window is reflected in another.
Everything opens onto something else.

I am puzzled by the task of habitation.
What does it take to live here? 

What does it take?

The birds have left the dogwood.
Shadows blotch the fence.

I think that there must be
some beginning to return to.