The House May Be Burning

But keep writing.
Write by the glow of the windows,
the roof alight
like a red-haired girl,
you in the back yard, safe.

The ladybug’s flown away.
Recall her flit and armored crawl.
To the last breath of summer.
Upon the circular of winter.

The man may have left.
This doesn’t stop
the writing. Between
the pages, a slight blur.
The man may have been old
and ill, or young
who stopped trying
to be with you.
Ghost days.

You’re swimming across
a deep lake with a soul
you’re making.
You save the swimmer,
the sailor,
the drowned,
the damned
and the beloved.

Margaret Hasse, “The House May Be Burning” from In a Sheep’s Eye, Darling. Copyright © 1988 by Margaret Hasse. Reprinted by permission of Milkweed Editions.