And perhaps I am a house....

And perhaps I am a house,
all windows and waiting
for you to come home
and turn the porch light on.

Perhaps I am a house
full of the ghosts of Memory
who scatter when you come
to lie down your head.

In the morning you leave
and they come back to haunt me,
but houses need not
be concerned by these things.

I am glad you have found
a place to live.

There've been many eyes
that've looked out these windows;
many hands
have opened these doors.
You, like the others, are migrant;
you will not be staying long.

And as you turn the porch light off
in the early morning gloom,
I cannot help but think:
Even houses need a heart
in which to live.