Listen, houses are more powerful than you know.
The house is the outside, the shingles, the yellow siding,
the big white door. The gold knob and the bell.
The ways to enter, or to ask permission to be let in.
The house is its outline, the rain funneled through gutters
and released on the ground, spare parts of trees lying
in temporary stillness on the stairs. The house possesses
a being within the walls. Inside there is light,
waiting to be animated. Clicks, humming, thumps
emanating from the architecture like scent from a blossom.
Houses can haunt you, can murmur in your ear
while you sleep. Can rise from their yards
and creep amongst traffic to where you live now.
Where the two meet, the old house, the new one,
the air stirs, a clamoring of forces. A house presses
its presence against you, says this to you, Remember.