We walk toward it
with a flashlight.
We walk slowly.
He has his cane in one hand.
The other floats and grabs, reaching
for my shoulder as his footing
tilts on gravel and ruts.
He is looking down, back hunched
and neck crooked.
I lift the beam. Windows glimmer.
Porch and door. Roof lines.
More windows, then higher up –
his study. Mine. Chimneys. Home.
It’s going to be here when he’s gone.
A sob catches in his throat. He’s trembling.
Again, with the flashlight,
I show him the house. We stand there
silent in the dark, and look
at where we’ve dwelt.