HOUSES CLOSE BY

Apart like

stars or atoms, 

notes 

in a fugue.

Like voices 

held      in silence,

in the 

expanse

splayed      between

the in-between.

These houses

 might as well 

be minds

trying 

not to try 

to think, speak.

What do they     hear

         in their      separate 

 confidences          

among the       walls 

 and          windows

ceilings and doors,

tables and chairs,

inside         all the insides 

                in their       distances,

            surrounded by

 

all that’s 

outside and gathering

                in the space 

 around them?

  Is it hope, trust, 

      peace.       A prayer?

   Or simply       a breath 

                breathing 

                 its way 

back home?