In the Barn

Under ribs of chestnut brown,

a swallow plucks the ancient sound

from an artist’s lips.

She haloes the spellbound crowd,

then, among the splintered eaves,

hovers beside gaping mouths

to fill three throats with song.

Flickers of pulsing shadow

signal the arrival of bats,

who stir the dust motes.

And below, the poet breathes

a wavering story of the trees

while raw strings siren

beings tangled in light.

And beyond the barn,

an owl skims the stubble of the earth,

like the whisper of dusk.