Original EveryPoem Studio house-voice poem.
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His hat remains on the peg, rain-dark at the brim, a pale line where the sun
He walked the fence at evening, not because the wire had changed, but because wind, cattle,
He read weather in swallows, in the ache of one knee, in cattle turning backs to rain.
The gate he built still drags one corner through the dust. Lift, then push,
Before sunrise, the barn light came on because he did. Cattle shifted in the dark.
Milk, lemons, soap, her handwriting leaning forward as if the paper were a hill.
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