House and Bridge

[Lykren]

Cool arms hang outside the window,
pale against the blue of the wall
and drifting with the spirited wind,
a record, loosely kept, of days
streaming to a curious conclusion.

Dry hills a decade later breathe
slow rivers like hands staying
almost in place. Motionless
eyes hold a private world
the way dust comes up, sweet,
and settles to hide the contents
of a room. Beside bare white walls
a man listens, learning to know
what he already thinks.

Roads are dark by both day
and night. The transients
get up and start walking toward
the edge in appreciation of
the music it provides, luminous
sounds with no creator.