The sunflowers in the front by the mailbox
are being decapitated nightly by the urban skunk
and daily by the squirrels. Their smiling faces have been mutilated--
it's a mess of shells on the steps to the front door.
And a murderer lives next door.
There's a ghost in the walls that shakes the floor.
And every wall is a different color.
This house is magical and here I float.
This house has an energy on its own--
pulling at your fingers and pant legs
and it won't let me go.
Gosh, it feels so good to be here.
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