All we've laid by against the world's change
May not be enough to save us.
We can lose everything.
Frond-littered Haleiwa Beach
And the wide winter surf
That steepens over the reef pure cobalt,
Glassy aquamarine.
Small trees in the backyard in Jamestown
Safe from the wind,
Quince the color of coral, apricot that passes early,
And apple that scatters near the shielding wall
What blossoms it bears-
All their flowering branches, sweet, late fruit.
Houses where we've lived in Erie-
Lintels, floorboards, stairs,
Whose wood feels softened from our having walked there,
Glass doorknobs we've grasped-prisms breaking sunlight
Fallen through wavery panes into its many colors-
Furniture and rugs, window curtains,
Mirrors keeping our images in mind,
Rooms that hold our having talked in them,
Our having found each other.
All these bear the touch of our history,
And slowly our lives work toward the same home.
But we can lose everything we have: It can all be wasted.
We've lived everywhere,
But then there will be no place on earth for us.