the stone barn

it stands empty now
there are cracks
in the mortar between the fieldstones
set so carefully
by work roughened hands
now gone from this earth

i long to go inside
to run my hands over the timbers
seek out those places where
a shoulder or hand
brushed the wood smooth
touching it thousands of times
going about daily chores

perhaps i would find inside
a pile of musty hay
with just a sweet trace
of the smell of summer
still clinging there
snuggle down into it
and through half open lids
watch the dust motes float
on shafts of light

as I did long ago
in another barn
in another place
so many miles…
so many years gone by