There is a hesitance to the trees
through the howling of the wind.
Wounded and pulled agape,
there is unwillingness in the fence.
A hole; to crawl through
and crawl back through.
Standing strong against the storm,
a house with an unpredictable staircase
but reliable walls.
It consents to the rain...
It consents to the light...
A branch rests atop it
Yes. A branch.
The rest is kindling.