Wednesday, May 20, 2009

What Comes of Winter

The barn, once a pumping red organ,
now stands browned as the crusted
wound from a gutted carcass.
Inside, hollow, rotted—
boards sag, broken splinters
like pipes in winter.
Abandoned by laborers,
the only occupant: a rusted cowbell
so brittle that touch
threatens to encore
a thousand fragments ringing
with dusty memories, dissonance,
chiming to the ground.

LL, 3/14/2009. Prevail.


  1. Lovely! So vibrant and crisp, yet with that sense of expansiveness. It opens out at the end instead of closing down.

  2. MY WORD. That BELL. How in the world can you create an image more vivid than a memory?! Exquisite.