The wood-framed house with its
buckled roof
slatternly siding
smashed-glass windows
front door wedged open
–        in a forever welcome
stately in a moribund way;

they hauled it away
in a weekend.

With no foundation
no pipes
nor ancient beams
perhaps a hand-blown bottle
brass button from
–        the Revolution
no history;

just a circular grove of
trees to remember.