take one

yellow parchment shade flaps –
with a sound like symphonic clappers-
sand and grit hiss through the fence
fxorange light pours through
the gap on the eastern rise
and as the wind dies
dark peach trees whisper each other quiet,
as they used to, to avoid detection

the porch stairs list west as they always did –
like a body that slept heartside for decades –
and my arm must be the twisted rail
on the brink of falling away completely…

no one lives anywhere any more –
not people, anyway –
but under the tilting steps
two miraculously fluffy kittens
are making mincemeat of the yarn
in a flat woven basket – pink and blue
mostly – plus a larger ball of twine
that must have been white
once upn a time

.

.

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