the corner joiced moon bent between two rooves , carpenter bees and trees crick and rustle past midnight ,hooves scattered in the pops of wood swelling ,old houses live for four seasons ,four kinds of death and birth, each reason the treason for next season's rise , the demise slow crumbles and gnaws ,the erosion of a river valley is seldom seen in a lifetime as it sits distilled in silent movement to where now we can look without turning into salt or some other near metal waiting for the forge again...