Too young to be wise within
the great old barn Homer built
to hold dry-land hay before the bales—
pulleys and rail, tall mangers either side
for teams of horseflesh, wooden floor
tourist cameras never see.
From the rafters of rough-cut fir
the world is small, the only light
leaks under eaves.
Cost too great to restore my dreams
of slower days and longer nights,
I wonder—wherein wisdom reigns.