*after Constantine P. Cavafy

                                                                      ‘The Afternoon Sun’
This land, how well we know it.
And this city house as well.
Now we own it, and the one next to it,
the land, not, in the city, here we are close neighbors,
as sanctuary. The whole place has become
a cathedral for meditation, prayer, growth.
In the city we have been more careful, asking the sky
to respect boundries. To touch gently the earth here.
This land, how familiar it is.
Megan and Andy are going to have a baby
they live next door.
Here near the gate, was the fire, 
We go to the rehabilitation clinic two times a week
a burnt stump still standing among small trees.
Close by, an old maple with green leather leaves.
On the hill, no, the rise, a cistern with small
frogs and other things.
There are dead mice in the city basement,
their necks snapped by thin wire.
There are dead mice in the cistern their bodies bloated.
In the cabin the table where they write
A library, a table for writing.
and the old small oaken chairs
and the new small oaken chairs
near the windows the bed
where the view is of far lake and forest.
From the bed she can see the redbud tree
through the blinds.
This place must still survive somehow,
these old things.
Back in October we came to the city for a teaching
assignment, it has become forever.
These places must still survive somehow.