Down the dirt rock road
made for horses, old tractors, skipping and singing children
and lost dogs
The home
Brown adobe walls caked for strength
where through winter-stained windows
gas and candlelight flicker
on barren walls
Black stove governs a corner
on the wood chip floor
Freezing in the morning
forty hurried steps through thick high grass
to a graywood privy
On the road passing by
I can’t see anyone home
but I think they’re there
Inside I see a gray-striped cat
on the windowsill
looking out
wondering about me