Like an abject peasantry the snow
hugs the legs of the forest
A survey stake hoists orange tape
Dried claret backs the hemlock bark
Greedy for colour we quicken our step
at first glimpse of the no trespass sign
Quarantine yellow are the letters
and the border is the same as well
Now we stand before the vacant house
set on a half-acre of cleared bush
Whoever owns the place
brought it on a truck
There is no hydro
this far down the road
A blue plastic tarp fronts the shed
where the diesel generator was kept
The blinds hang askew in the window
The lap siding is faded to aquamarine
Between ourselves and the house
there is only unblemished snow
From the road we cannot see
where the chimney would be
In this emptiness the lama
wraps in burgundy robes
Source