Two years have gotten old, fallen sick, and died in the cooler dirt
under my porch.

And more than seven hundred days have blown away like weak flowers
cut by uneven wind.

But still, with a touch of fever, I …

The old house in the long field is haunted, everyone says so.
The status of the haunting is confirmed through a collective silence;
It’s made true in the quiet way everyone speaks around it, saying nothing.
Our children do not …