by Jonathan Ustun
Shingles blown off the roof and porch
That’s why you use cedar
When you pick them up
The gray moves into your fingers.
My friend died on the couch this year
His dog still sleeps
On the carpet
Keeping it warm.
A Japanese temple in the city
Built after an architect went to Kyoto
Swooping roof and empty places that
Wait for someone to visit.
The people left long ago
To get married, work and have children
They took the spaces with them
Their spirits blow through the hall.
— from Juniper Volume 3, Issue 1