seeing

I see that the soil is compacted
while barn swallows
tailing the bush hog
exploit my labor for lunch.

I see that the seed won’t take
that the pressing
pressing
pressing
has turned my field to stone.

I see that the steed won’t stand-
green broke, needing a bit.
Eating my hay,
in an ungrateful way
resisting
resisting
a role.

The old floors they creak and groan
harmonizing with bull frogs and fox.
The dew, she’s falling.
Our carriage, stalling,
in the cave of a hot summer night.

The screen door slams with a bang
and a poem floats with the moths.
What’s forgotten can be found,
what's broken can be bound,
but not without light
on the break.