My old flame, my wife! br Remember our lists of birds? br One morning last summer, I drove br by our house in Maine. It was still br on top of its hill - br br Now a red ear of Indian maize br was splashed on the door. br Old Glory with thirteen stripes br hung on a pole. The clapboard br was old-red schoolhouse red. br br Inside, a new landlord, br a new wife, a new broom! br Atlantic seaboard antique shop br pewter and plunder br shone in each room. br br A new frontier! br No running next door br now to phone the sheriff br for his taxi to Bath br and the State Liquor Store! br br No one saw your ghostly br imaginary lover br stare through the window br and tighten br the scarf at his throat. br br Health to the new people, br health to their flag, to their old br restored house on the hill! br Everything had been swept bare, br furnished, garnished and aired. br br Everything's changed for the best - br how quivering and fierce we were, br there snowbound together, br simmering like wasps br in our tent of books! br br Poor ghost, old love, speak br with your old voice br of flaming insight br that kept us awake all night. br In one bed and apart, br br we heard the plow br groaning up hill - br a red light, then a blue, br as it tossed off the snow br to the side of the road.