Farm

Today I am an empty barn
in the dead of winter, wood cracked,
cold as the field around it,
not a shred of hay,
my thoughts gone with the last
of the animals taken to market
seasons ago, after the farmer
was taken to heaven.

Even the cats have vanished.
They would warm each other here,
but each one needed mice, which
stole a little feed.

How things change.
The land yields for a while,
lets us grow and build,
imagine and narrate.

Then come dry seasons,
some misappropriation
of what needs water,
and a harvest of dust.