Imagining Why the Owners Are Selling

You mustn’t blame yourselves when
What it was you wanted turns
Out not what you had wanted.

You’ll think you should have wanted
Something different, think that’s it,
Your foolish wanting, or think

It’s some lack of gratitude
In you now, as your back aches,
As you listen to birdsong,

Maybe in the house you dreamed
Of owning, now knowing snow
Will be back in a few months,

And you will have to work hard
With that aching back to keep
The path to your pretty door

Passable. It’s not your fault,
Not in the human habit
Of assigning praise or blame.

You can only want this world
And only suffer for it.
The thrush echoes the morning.