Furnace barren 
of wood and coal. 
Front steps full
of Autumn lust. 
Windows hold
their mouths open, 
letting air escape through 
slivered mouths. 
Antique roof crumples under 
impossible endurance. 
“Just one more year.” 
Water seeps into the
floors from a much
ambitious storm, 
first filling the lake
then making its way
to grandpa’s doorstep.
Knock, Knock.
No answer.
Hasn’t been since 1995. 
Age left pockets
full of dust, 
widowed frame of a home, 
full of knowledge, 
knowing it’s almost time to go. 

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