A House and a Vein of Water

In the bars that face the pier they always knew.
Each night a house lifts free of its foundation,
undertakes the long sail. At dawn it returns,
nudging awake the still groggy form
that last night collapsed in a doorway,
then snored its way through the stars.

Residents of that city, unsettling to hear,
use a common verb to express location
that leaves a doubt as to whether you’ll find
even the cathedral where yesterday you saw it.
It remains. Yet those with a pride of place
have buckled their houses to the hill.