house

in the mud,

in the dirt,

in the silt,

in the pores of the earth,

with the worms,

the moles,

the bugs,

amongst the milkweed,

swaying in the wind,

their fluff floating out,

into the gentle breeze,

flowing far and free,

in the murky waters,

with the fish,

the tadpoles,

the algae,

in the weeds,

in the nutsedge,

in the growth,

in the shadows of the lilypads,

this is the quiet that will be felt when the houses sink

deep into the sludge

and the wood rots

and the paint peels,

this is the quiet that will be felt when our home is once again our home.