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back ELISABETH MURAWSKI
The Barn
No thoughts of bats
in the eaves,
or snakes
seeking a space
to circle in. Webs
we brushed against
did not chill. We were
close to the earth still
as we jumped, squealing,
from the loft, landed
softly on the hay.
The barn was alive
with dust motes.
We could hear calves and foals
moving in their stalls.
We could hear the mothers.
What a comfort
to know they were waiting,
rustling in the straw
while we flew.