He felt it
upon walking through the door.
He met the spirit of the place
and, recognizing not his hunger but
the food that quelled it,
eyes searched piles and corners,
while feet took him further inside
than the visit required.
Touching countertop, dishing questions,
noticing, lingering, sensing, offering,
eventually the task on the roof-
the reason for the call-
pulled him back outside to search there, too,
for holes letting in winter rain.
A ladder leans against an eave
though his warm blood and yellow shirt
departed down cold canyon road an hour ago.
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 