← v16n2, Fall 2017
Poetry · Volume 16, Number 2

The Barn

No thoughts of bats

in the eaves,

or snakes

seeking a space

to circle in. Webs

we brushed against

did not chill. We were

close to the earth still

as we jumped, squealing,

from the loft, landed

softly on the hay.

The barn was alive

with dust motes.

We could hear calves and foals

moving in their stalls.

We could hear the mothers.

What a comfort

to know they were waiting,

rustling in the straw

while we flew.