Katrina A house is growing on my lawn. How it got there, did it catch the bus or the ferry Or lumber up the shell path that crests the levee top... Oh yes. I remember it now. It lived a few blocks away One of the dream houses that once bespangled this deserted road.

My own roof has sprouted dead branches Its gutters gorged with the stubble of pine needles On my driveway the tide has precipitated colors Paintings that have never adorned my walls Near the kitchen door loiters A sullen beer keg I have not emptied.

Everywhere, ground, street, asphalt, cement, pool Shards of baked sediment overcake Like remnants of a shattered pot kicked by a careless mule.

This was a house of dreams. Not towering uplifting dreams - The ordinary type that buzz the ear of a sleeper in a slow rocking chair Rocking away the days, rocking down the hours Breathing contentment into unremarkable Better than flight, because flight is hardly possible.