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Home Life by John Poch   Tell me, tongue of fire... --James Merrill I loved a house and it burned down. The sun rolled over the scene, proud and showing the fire off. My birthday, and in the rubble the candle-fires sang you wish. Men watched, and their stories made the other summers brighter. The sirens conspired, and the dogs in chorus. Help brought the curtains on, and the darkness was no better. Final was the leaving of machines, the secret puffs of smoke. Who's there? My sunken ship, my darkened heels, my black ties dripping, fallen from hanging themselves-- the nurse says the physician says, If the darkness returns, (be bright) come in, we‰ll have a look... Condolences to my mother and sisters are all some days, nothing others. What burned was the house. It was always burning, its windows open asking for the wind's bright eyes.

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