Had I known I’d find my way into this full-blown love,
might I have creased my brow less? The boy with his violin,
the daughter with her social ease, the husband plotting out
the design of Mexican tiles across the floor.
In this little house, where the wooden stairs creak
and he must sometimes duck beneath the beams, I have found
the unexpected beauty of habit. Birds address
what airs between the trees that hem the garden.