We Make our own House
The bareness of the house returns
With the new June bugged light —
I’m a contrary thesis of growing older
The white wine of last night knows.
I have no answers to why the future
Folded her grip in my small preview of freedom
Something aligned and I am off
Like a thing running for the shores in the night.
There is an elemental parent in our whims
In our impulse there is a secret wisdom
The soul knows well enough when to flee —
And freedom and forfeit has a reckoning.