There are places
less significantthan this: gnarled trees,
the barn with the face of an old man
carved in its slates, the
stagnantblack well. There were
seasons
stacked like the fields,
rounded haybails left out to dry,
the berry bush tangled
in weeds; each red fruit
choking. We gathered them
thinking of mulberry seeds
and imagined the pie.
There are reasons for
leaving-when the snow came down
grey ducks would fly
in V's precise as
decision,the pond still and mourning
in the farmer-child's eye.
Post a Comment