In the forest is a house made of forest –
stone, wood, clay. Nothing in it is false.
Thickly overgrown, scarcely can it be seen.
Things are just as they are –
appropriate, timeless, undiminished.
Only the furnishings change their positions.
People visit but most often
walk through to the back
and out again into the weather,
the wilds – unimpressed.
They have come to the woods
for their dreams; to put down elaborate roots.
They want nothing to do
with the evidentiary truth of this house.
Only a returning few ever discover
the hidden beauty of such an austerity.
O child of God, rest in that sturdy shelter,
beyond any notions of rescue.