Tracks. . .



Tracks. . .

Check on that for me
and find out whether the tracks
are a rabbit’s tracks.
See if in the new snow
they lead under the porch.

It has been such an old house
for so long,
even I think,
when it was first built.
It has seen
with eyes blinking rapidly,
so many goings and comings.

Even with carpeted floors,
the goings and comings
are loudly announced
by creaking floors that shout,
‘I am home!  I am alive!  I am here!’

The aware heart needs
no tracks in new snow
to know when love marches

through an old house.

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