wolf house was haunted by the profits made by a white man
selling stories not his own even though the studio of this sprawling home
teemed with gifted artifacts and artworks

I couldn’t touch a thing in there

sage and deerskin and feathers and arrowheads
handmade dolls and hand-strung jewelry
piled in disarray collecting dust

he didn’t touch a thing there

the day that I left the pool was dry and filled with sand
some noodles and toys abandoned in the deep end
this was the place where time stood still

no one touched a thing here

years had passed since family had gone but their shadows lingered
nothing moved an inch nothing moved at all
no moving on – I watched a brilliant mind turn cold and slow and frozen

nothing can be touched here

and nothing can be reached or changed
solidified against the desert’s edge
the only living soul was me

something about here – touched me