wind runs right up this olden days girl
bulked up in layers against the February cold
chickens follow her to the calling cows
waiting out the bales fall and bust
and a fair green distribution
the girl and the dog check the state of calves
note the foo foos of the cows still in calf
pray that the water hasn`t froze up
and only then return as a flock to the sheds
mully high headed, tail a sail
ahead and center
her flock coming down the drive
into the workshop
where tools and bolts, implements and jobs are strewn
their histories cloaked by chicken dusted grime
dulled by the passage of an indefinite time
durations measured by the hatching of bantees
the progress of spider webs and the thickness of dust
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