From the Neighborhood II

I run to the very
end of the street
driven by you
and when I turn to look back
you shine like a siren. I shuffle
a slow return. And when I get
close enough I have to run again,
in despair, unsettled,
for 40 years
suspended on you.
.
This little house
has many small tragedies
making loud speech
made of past embarassments
the emergence of weakness
pretension that turns
into delusion. The cries
from this tiny house
are muted by the trees
and filtered through the
versicolored sunshine.