Just near my childhood home
used to be a19th century farmhouse
but all that was left
was blackened cinder blocks
of an apparent fire
and the apple tree beside them.
Field grasses and wildflowers
overran the foundation
and it was where I could sit
out of sight and lost in time,
spellbound by summer,
while on the grass tips,
the house of the sun
floated like an apparition
scented by the burning past.