Seeming deserted,
that hushed house in a blind of evergreens waits for your glance. Who else would notice what secrets rustle through cracks in the wall? You should sneak in—but you won’t. There is something you can’t chance losing. You might not find faded manuscripts, slashed canvases, old silver coins. It may have been inhabited by a hermit who couldn’t repair or lock a door, or a circle of gangsters cranking out $20 bills. Driving by with friends you don’t say a word. If this was discussed over coffee the first thing you know, hefty guys with blue-prints and crafty bull-dozers would cruise right in. Soon there would be nothing left but grey dust sifting through weeds, and shattered boards with their nails bared. |