Old Barn

Smell of sun-baked, cured,

unpainted boards. Aromas
of 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

Swallows in Sicily

How long have swallows lived
in Sicily? They don't
ask questions like that.

They seem to live in
every town, just like Sicilians.
Their evening flights weave
patters impossible to extract.

They carve and slice the air,
teasing it into life after
its mid-day coma.

Their cries are tuned
to waver between
shriek and whistle.

At nightfall, in Cefalu,
we miss the swallows more
than the sun, more than
the fun we had, if we had
some fun, today.


hans ostrom 2018