was there some things left out on your front steps   like the words, unsaid, that maybe should have been?   you've seen so much life through your window eyes   do you still look on tonight?      are your copper veins bent for watering   all the hands that cleaned all the in-between   spaces that have been, accumulating   all the dust of life's debris?      look now (look now)   at how a home becomes a house (a house)   when the porch lights are all turned out (turned out)   at how its window eyes have dimmed (have dimmed)   all is silent and dark within (within)   the vinyl of its skin      in the depths of you by the fire's plumes   where we warmed our hands while we made our plans   you were left to be a place of memory   of warm hellos and cold goodbyes   a home that sheltered our darkest skies      the lazy eyelids of your awnings close   the porch, your mouth, a yawning pose   those pipes so cold they nearly froze   I almost wanted to light a match   but it would have warmed you too fast   causing most of your veins to crack   as your body just turned to ash