High White or Mossy

I used to live alone

In a high, white, house.

Sepulchral and remote,
Stone built,
It felt like ancient bones.

Now I live in
A quite different place,
Verdant,
Ringing with voices,
And the sound of water!

My desert house
Would crack in the sun at noon.
My forest house is flexible,
Stretching with sunshine
As it falls through the leaves.

Desert thought was ever clear and other.
Green thought is chaotic but always now!