Silence.
Finally.
 
I am open now, and empty
desolate, desiccated
and free from the meat bags.
 
It took them long enough
despite the hunger
the heat and the thunder.
 
Cold now,
freezing and blistery
I don’t have to worry about burning up inside.
 
There’s no more rage in here,
no more sadness and
no more laughter.
 
Peaceful.
Simple.
 
I certainly intend to continue
dragging the wind and
collecting the wets.
 
There’s coyotes in here
their cackle brutal;
you can smell the thrill of the hunt.
 
Scampering occasionally
I really don’t mind
it’s not constant.
 
I’ve been here for decades
but what does that even mean
to an old house.
 
I just wish I could see
those mountains.