Ernest's old family home at Oak Park
is like one of those places which once
having experienced in childhood
we try to return for the rest
of our lives if we were lucky
to have them; but we never
get there, even if we make it
physically; for those places
are not made of walls and roofs
and windows and lawns
but of people, and the people -
they are gone, leaves of a gone
summer fallen, raked and burned,
smoke drifting up to another
heaven than this one above us.
27.07.2024
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