you, house

no warm wind flows
through this place—

empty space
parked in a paved lot.

lines lead dully
to an uneventful end
like a grounded rectangle
of crab-grass

rooted tightly,
the light soft memory of you,
light blue in sunlight and
dressed in white trim

the light, soft memory of you
clutching the earth—
square space—
not wanting anyone to take it away.

--Mr. Sugar

Copyright NEOCH and the Homeless Grapevine published June 1996-July 1996 Issue 16