the winter wind slips
easily through every crack
in this house of mud
The juxtaposition between winter wind and mud (adobe?) walls is striking and memorable, and the poetry of the repeated consonant sounds is pitch perfect.
Moreover, it is possible to read the last line as a confessional utterance—the poet and her house being one and the same. In that respect, “house of mud”
lingers in the mind as a powerful symbol of mortality and mutability.