Woolgathering

Before we began to accumulate

these lace curtains, these

carvings and vases bought

at mountain stores,

before we began to add weekly

to our house, these shelves

of bright solid objects,

the bone armadillo,

the ceramic rocks,

the belljar of seashells,

before we began to weigh

ourselves daily,

before all of this

and a long way before

when all we had was in two

footlockers and a Jim Beam box

back then when we moved a thousand

miles away a year

looking always ahead to a house

full of things that mattered

back before we bothered

over lawns or paint

when we were as light

as our checkbook

as light as light through these

lace curtains

back before when what we dreamed

was what we had

houses on islands, verandas wrapped

around, a rum sun, a ginger wind,

back before we came to settle

for lace curtains that make lush shadows

on the bedroom wall,

that make the backyard