Set upon a lonesome hill
A macrame of buildings and self-will.
Adeptly placed into landscape from the vacant window sill.
Communities of back-breaking promises.
Handed down chores.
Much too often,
the stoking of fire from within.
And, chipped among the frail lead paint
above and below, a rustic hearth
A lost world in the grain of hard labor.
Absent but ever-present…
broken apple carts.
What a chorus to this…
heavenly, family farm.
Motions beset by synchronicity.
An untouchable charm.