The house collapses its rafters
into a swaybacked old nag
happier to stand her ground
than crumple her limbs
into lying on the dirt
where she knows she’ll
never rise again.
House windows doze
in half-open awareness
no longer reflective
of landscape outside
and exposing dark
abandonment inside.
The house door still secures
the phantom possessions
of pioneering people
passed beyond prairie grasses
stretching blades to lift
the latch and enter before
the house retires or if after,
a project of reclamation
where grass blades
and horse tails sway in the wind.
