The Mirror Turned to Face the Wall

When the moments are unpeopled,
And the clock's tick competes
With the throaty vocalizations 
Of the ravens on the lawn,
And the sun sends polygons
Through the dusty windows

To light up bedraggled houseplants
And the swirls of dust motes
Part stove ash, part ephemera,
For the slow dance of glancing
That tempts us with angels,

Then it is just about possible
To remember being alive,
All the old days spent alone
With the odds and ends 
Of a world of lumber
Carpet, birdsong, sunlight,
Pepper plants, clocks, mousetraps,

The mirror turned to face the wall,
The numerable creaks of structure
Warming to itself, slowly,
Under the snowy spring mountains
To the bleating of the goats.