They Come to the Barn
 Without Being Called   

by Lorne R. Mook

 Lorne R. Mook reads 

They Come to the Barn Without Being Called



in RealAudio format.
     

   
I walked across the meadow in the heart of spring
And heard the local analyst say to the farmboy,
“Look at the side of that Holstein—yes, that one there—
And tell me what you see.” It’s the kind of thing
That happens all the time. You go down cellar,
Bring up a potato, with or without eyes,
And thoughts, shaped who knows how, of . . . things—like home,
And leaving home to find “down cellar” a phrase
Used by few to speak about their basement,
And other flimsy tinfoil. It’s then you wish
For something resembling the first day of the earth,
When nothing was about but unnamed light,
That time before reflection and the shadows,
Before the cow of the world came up the lane,
Mornings and nights, to be interpreted.

      Able Muse

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