1. "Winter Barn"
It still stands, a patch of red,
a bleeding stork. It still stands,
starched stiff like a red
pucker, a tongue to let
speak the surrounding
No disturbances. No footprints
in the snow. No smoke, still.
It stands, painfully ready to be
used. The blushing shows
through the snowy cover.
This was a landscape of past revelation,
deepening haydrifts and smiling pumpkins.
A flame of childhood sparked
with the pony’s clop, the rider’s
smile a lifeline lifted on
and off the back.
Tonight: dead winter, seventeen below.
The barn stands, its empty self
a mirror’s lipstick smudge, a strain
of broken blood. Something,
somewhere, will arrive. We gather
like leaves on the back porch.