"After dark"

 

after we've packed up and left the house
it will still be there. After we've edged the car and its five
last things (not to mention the kettle) out of the drive
and in the general direction of Scotland, after dark,
after we've packed up and left the house
the kite will come and leave a pigeon gravelled
and by morning quartered prints will touchpad
the grass by the gate that's not wanted for anything
after we've packed up and left the house.
Still, it will be there. The house covert against the burrowed
body of the hill like a sleeper slowly discovering her own
length, after dark, after we have left. There it is.