My faith resides in this house, a vaguely leaning house, changing and crossing in the seasons.
The body of the disabled woman or man, child or elder takes the sharp sun
Or the rain that comes from dreams–unravels each–makes ruthless beauty.
You don’t have to take my word for it. Get a stethoscope. Every beat creates the world.
Every hammer fall. Each banging of the door.
The leaning house is the soulful house, phantoms in every timber.
Every minute is absorbed under the steep roof.
Each room has its secret spots–corners where other lives come–
& the house, a vaguely leaning house, a house of blood and salt
Takes everyone in.
What appears to be in ruins is at once humble and distinguished.
S.K.
Planet of the Blind 
oh, this is beautiful. thank you!
i don’t know if you’re biblically inclined, but it enriches, for me, the words, “the house of the father has many rooms.”
LikeLike
How true and beautifully expressed that the disabled body or mind or the disability we all face (old age) is “a house that takes everyone in.”
LikeLike