Only the dead feel at home…

Only the dead feel at home—“My father’s house has many mansions…”

“You have to understand,” the poet said, “life is a rented room, not much more.”

Sometimes I have to laugh

Thinking of piety, all those down payments

For what is essentially free. Death is it’s own house.

The windows are open, late Autumn, rain coming, the old curtains billowing.