Temporal

by Carrie Albert

Crows loop above, free to steer
their own lines. The hill pulls 
evergreens downward; branches descend
in long strands of earth-mother hair.
A leaf-slippery path leads 
to a gathering of plastic tents, curtained  
with tattered blanket insulation, mini-domes 
blend into vines, roped to trees, 
root-cling might hold them. 
No one is home or everyone hibernates 
inside, rich with time, and winter poor. 
The closed doors flaps. Signs: 
garbage bagged and scattered, 
wheelchair-in-waiting, one pink slipper. 
A hula hoop hangs on limb,
empty dream catcher.