What moved the hands
that nailed the boards
above the lentil of my house?
The planing of the doors,
the careful carpentry of the windows?
Putting a soul together,
much as the sea
carves its caves,
a forest erects a canopy,
mountains fashion porches
from their overhangs.
My house came into its life,
as people filled its rooms,
sharing the aroma of their bodies
with the scent of its wood.
Leaving the touch of their fingers
on its walls,
tracks on the stairs,
the resonating echoes of their voices
in its rooms.
Nothing is forgotten by the house.
All the sadness
and joys of our lives are here.
It welcomes our guests,
and people exclaim,
what a happy house!
as if hugged.
And I smile
with a secret knowledge,
that our house is alive
and loves us,
in its protecting and sheltering
through the years.