i saw the way of this house:

it stood there like a redwood
covered in bark,
its hands upon its heart

 
with the slowness of cinnamon
a smile squeezed through its teeth,

rosy, like joy,

and from the window sills
of lips, morning glories

tumbled,

climbing the marrow

of walls, clutching bones

and tomorrows

every balcony reached for me;
arms opened, wide as doors:
hello again, hello,
the house beamed -
i heard its silent dreams.

waving its roof like a heart
above its head, 
it leaned, 
lovingly,
the way i’ve always wanted
a house to lean on my hip

 
i saw its inner-face,
and knew,

i’ve always lived here