A house that lacks mistress and master.
A lonely house I let myself enter.
Cleaned during the pasture spring.
What big cobwebs in lantern light!

Deep within a barn, withdrawn from my song.
Blending with the sameness of wood
In such a little town where lovers inhabit your dreams,
make you forget your damned being.

I came in with the rain and my funereal umbrella.
On an odd night from a saturated meadow
Where I sang the strangest dirge.
An arrival unseen. Not even the small parents

Hidden in the attic, long deceased.
You saw me at the bottom of the stairs
Only to summon me upwards,
Towards you, ascending, as if meeting my maker.

Or as if meeting my partner in crime of making beds.
I was only half-chaste, dim-witted, plural-selved
Of the heart that bore you. Forget my love.
I was only a stranger who came in with the storm
On the eve of a very lonely house.
And so I left you in the morning.