A House in winter

she would often pause while walking
past her favorite house,
facing the salt sprayed harbor

receiving tiny floods after
a heavy rain

she never saw anyone leave or enter the home--
how it always appeared spanking clean, 
with a fresh cloud of white paint,
and  charming gingerbread details

no chance of it being haunted
still... in the quiet of early morning, she thought
she heard it breathing the words in whispers:

"gaze at my beauty, but I am not on the market
don't expect to make a deal...please keep walking."

my ancestors return in summer
to  walk down
the pebbled driveway

they cross the lane, to feel
the sand below their ghostly feet,
to  plunge into the bottle green harbor,
and  to swim without expending any energy

to simply allow themselves
to float lazily across the sound---
undetected by the most prayerful beach bums..

now in winter, the souls of the house could be felt skating..

when the sound  freezes, the sweet elegy of  heart beats
against the north wind, chant songs of release--
a sudden sweet freedom

kjl '19