Smell of sun-baked, cured,
unpainted boards. Aromasof hay and horse manure.
Shiny tines and sweat-dyed
handles of pitchforks.
Massive cured teeth
of an ancient rusted harrow,
retired now, host to spiders.
Fat raindrops tick against
an iron roof. Under eaves
of this hall of harvest
and toil, swallows lay eggs
in mud nests. At dusk
the birds will curve and dip
down for bugs on
a cow-pond surface.
Beyond this heap of rafters
and beams and light-shafts piercing
cracks, the corn and wheat
rustle in heat.
hans ostrom 2024
