the garden is always misty
mossy bricks and untrimmed box hedges
the black pool full of lily and duckweed
the wallpaper is peeling
subtle ripples in the paned windows
ivy shooting up the downspouts and into the gutter
he pays a local boy to bring a basket of eggs
meat wrapped in paper and twine, left on the porch
safe from the rain
there are shouts at odd hours, just the tv
the carpets are askew and
all of his mirrors are frosted
candlelight flickers across dark windows
as he walks the path of man
from now into forever