the child drew the house again and again
always getting it right
never getting it wrong
the roof always coloured-in red
smoke from the chimney a swishy black horsetail pluming away
the garden gate green as the very green garden
red roses tall as the house itself

the craziest thing the child ever did
was to swallow one pearl from the broken necklace
it clattered down her throat for years
so much shine
it made her fall down like a cellar door
what a clang

she gathered herself up like a lodestar,
she did,
like star-craft
a drop of dew in the cold April air
a porch to the orchard   a whisper-book
the most silent letter in the alphabet
the crayon house plucking her to her feet
with its blood-red story of the plunging hawk
made of so many words
it could never end