Ghosts and Living Things

It's a new home under the same old sun. There might be ghosts under these floorboards, in this space where I too reside. The trees are empty of any new life as though time and season have no meaning here. The sky is bigger, as if declaring its own importance; and to us it is (important). We can't avoid this place changing us, but the change I want is under the surface, beneath the floorboards, the roots of the tree, and the rich black earth under the sun-baked crust. It's a new heart under the same old skin.