Their voices and shapes are always there,
Moving out of the shadows
As I come forward with a faint hail.
The ridgepole straightens again.
The roof is shingled and the grass is cut.
The windows are fresh with curtains.
I have seen myself there,
Hanging back in the shadows,
Wishing I would go away,
Shy and impatient with this
Interruption by a strange adult
Out of an unknown future.