Between my first home,
\nand my second home,
\nmiles of cornfield, soybeans,
\nyears growing together,
\nsilver maple trees,
\nshort lived and brash,
\nabandoned houses.
\nTo wile away my boredom
\ntraveling from one to the other,
\nI counted thirty churches.<\/p>\n
A cross here, a tabernacle there,
\nfor God, for Jesus,
\nfor God knows what,
\nfor psalmists,
\nfor the loneliness of life,
\nfor the ghettos of civilization.
\nFor the few years we live,
\nnone counted the same.<\/p>\n
Each year a house of sorts,
\nwarmth and sadness.
\nHouses clustered together
\nto make villages.
\nIn some of us,
\nsizeable manses
\nbuilt to our dimensions.
\nBig, small, pretentious,
\ngrass huts,
\nwhere we live.<\/p>\n
None the same,
\nyear to year.
\nThey have their porches,
\nopen windows,
\ngardens and weeds.
\nLike faces with acceptance
\nand denial in them.
\nPainted and repaired
\nor barren and ignored.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Between my first home, and my second home, miles of cornfield, soybeans, years growing together, silver maple trees, short lived and brash, abandoned houses. To…<\/p>\n