We hunted houses
for cracks. Cellars for damp. Figured the age of roofs and how long
they might hold.
Can you picture your lives here the agent asked & did we
in the center of empty spaces. Pretending to render
our eventual selves.
Our house’s first owner: the agent’s ex. She never knew him
to be reasonable
but he took what we offered. Sold us seven rooms on two floors
on two wooded
acres—the spaces where we entertain
link Legos, grow lettuce. We deal cards, fan them
For birthdays, lemon cake, uncandled—no bright thing
Last day of December, paper horns’ buoyant blare. We kiss well
Let the new year bring itself in.