There is a house
where the forest
has begun to remember
what people forgot.
Vines cradle the windows.
Roots hold the foundation
more faithfully
than hands ever did.
I placed a candle
at its feet.
Not to summon spirits—
only to let the darkness know
someone still noticed.
I packed my bowl
with a little gratitude.
A little grief.
A little forgetting.
The smoke drifted
through the ivy,
slipping inside
the cracked windows
like it had lived there before.
Maybe abandoned places
don’t need saving.
Maybe they simply wait
for someone quiet enough
to sit beside them
without asking them
to become something else.
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