Light pills and stutters feinting
and globular faded edges of shadow
as broken horses pause beneath
a locust tree
their memories of glory retaining
for this day a cloudy joy refracted
and refined by light
a metaphor that spreads untainted
the spreading wings of geranium birds
who preach a catholic salvation
beyond the filtering fields inside
the manse a horseless world a glass
image placing history as emergent
a scent of cardamom as deep below
these ancient cedar planks the documents are
saved the old recordings archived inside
the furnace tunnel
a place that has no light
a life that has no place
captured and preserved
Paul Ilechko is the author of the chapbooks Bartok in Winter (Flutter Press) and Graph of Life (Finishing Line Press). His work has appeared in a variety of journals, including Stickman Review, Mocking Heart Review, Into the Void Magazine, and Dime Show Review. He lives in Lambertville, NJ.
Photographer’s Note: When I read this poem I thought of this photo. I love old buildings and barns that are falling down yet still somehow standing. This shack showed hints of past lives, a kind of archive.