No beauty was ever stated, the answers
were never unique,
my family east never dreamed of thisgreen place and I could never dream ofmortgage, land to allot, of beingsomeone allotted spaceand green security whatcan't we do, what is elsewhere?
what looks less abstract, believablystable no basement suite flooded ceiling houseto be in but not of. Imaginesmooth front lawns, the greenthe stucco of the houses (east) I grewup in, all that glitters stuck in the surface.
Sense reflected in side-viewmirrors, mornings in cars, wood
once breathtaking rots in wallsI can't afford. Can't see the trees for the city. Can'tsee life for the trees, past cedars
and mountains is a 9% vacancy rate lifeis east, west is dreams, stayfor the city, for the trees.
What is the sum of 11 and 7:
It's your turn! Move into the poem. Renovate it. Knock down its walls. Put your spin on it. Make it your own.