Hour 10: The House

Adobe, pitched roof, Ranchos de Taos.
Sage and hollyhocks, hummingbirds galore.
At night you could hear pueblo drums,
sometimes, and imagine the dancing.
A sculptor had built the house, and her
daughter did pottery and textiles. The whole place
was a work of art, rented out as a studio through
Poets & Writers. Ordinary enough from the outside,
the magpies used it as their temple, as if they knew:
on the inside it soared, and became a sacrament. If you
couldn’t write there, you couldn’t write anywhere.

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