Transparencies
Whenever I pass your barn, I wonder
what it was like in the Fall of 1988?
Did I notice it back then, or just drive
by, unaware that its hand-hewed beams
were weather diaries & its gable roof
was shedding shingles, one by one,
without a second thought?
Pigeons fly cautiously in your yard.
They have lived in your barn for years,
ignoring its incoherent poverty.
Now twilight’s indigo wings come
& go through smashed panes
to roost in the loft’s ancient hay, waiting
for the cracked beams to pull apart, inch
by inch, another year’s fraction closer
to that split roof leaking its dangerous
light for all of us to see.