the house is fine
it is feeling confident and alive
yet the space of the spare room
and its feeling,
betrays the outside

memories have burned
and people are concerned
concerned,
that their habitat is ill conceived
and that luck is not received

life as sand
sand in a timer that drops steadily
that ebbs away
and nibbles at our future so readily

you know,
there is no personality –
in those first judgements
or in the palms of your hands

i think she likes me
so i sit in the chair
and i am thirteen all over again
i watch her standing there

picking up the pieces
and wanting to care for you
do you want me to?

with its bucket and spade
making its sandcastle dreams
but life has washed them away