Amor Fati: The Green House

Amor Fati: The Green House

Behind the town, beyond a stand of pine,
There sits a small, green house become a shrine
To one who lived within its several rooms
And crawled upon its floors. Sad music dooms
Its memory to one of loneliness
And wish, though gentle rain might still caress
Its roof and patter comfort on the wall.
Not farther than a boy could throw a ball,
A creek curved round the stones beneath the trees,
Solace of moss and water at the knees.
If one could stack the rocks, avoid collapse,
Pack the holes with clay and leaves, perhaps
Tadpoles, crayfish, and minnows might be caught
And scooped by hand. The water might be brought
To a stand-still. If you return, and find
The place still occupied, come round behind
And to the creek. A boy with tow for hair,
Alone and stacking stones, waits for you there.