Ruins in Sunlight

Up the side of the hill
The house is a lace of stones

A few grown over with earth
And a few smooth
And ridged, as molars

What was yard, sunlight now,
An expanse of grass—

And the stones
Forming the past house

Are worse than a map:
Allocation of rooms,

Divisions, architecture—

Nothing, it turns out, was
Secret, or private