Where My Soul Is Housed Brooding into dawn and the last flexible patchesOf goldenrod, I am singing something even I can’t followWhere motes of light hang over the edge of waterAnd a rose finch has flown away with my dreamsTension in the hush— in the wind-blown longingDesperate for the burn and my innocent refrainFor just one tree with a wealth of applesOr the blooming I still run to the hills forI watch as milkweed fans a...