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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.