Walking House

© 1999 Maria Alexander

Do you see that thought
Floating up to my mind
From my heart?
Like the clasping, tumbling heat of summer
You rise, rolling to the heights
Of my rafters.
Warming my memories, you are
Caught in the beam and strut
Of my perspective.
Yet in the still burning of the day
When the cat sleeps
And the old die of disbelief
The haze of you chokes me
And this walking house
Weeps for winter.