the moon glares fiercely on this town tonight.
next door the uninhabited stack house bears it sullenly,
with her skirts gathered close around her
against the pale fire of snows in league with the light.
what does it matter how gathered in or self-contained she seems,
when two days from now her roof will suddenly give up the ghost,
when a month from now the city will attempt to locate
the owner, believed to be living elsewhere, someplace south,
when a year from now a demolition crew will raze it
and the snows will come again with nothing upon which to settle
but the dead grass, the dozer tracks and a bent beer can,
when tonight a man lays down with a woman
in a heap of blankets in what used to be the dining room
the air around them shimmering with shared knowledge
and unspoken alliance against the unknown.