No Matter the Brightness

The sun is bright this time of day, a bit harsh.
Every barn in the field down the road is exposed,
the cracked paint, the rust on the metal roof.
The window slipshod and falling from the wall.

Thorns grow over one of the doors,
an entrance not used for years.
The whole thing sags, just the slightest bit to one side.
Picturesque and a little dangerous

like so many things we take for granted.
Always there. Barely noticed as the paint flakes
until something sags and inch too far
and falls into ruin. I have seen it. I have lived it

and caught myself just before falling,
a miracle of sorts, but still, soon enough
the work could be done, bit by bit
until just as slowly as it all came undone,

it came back, ready for its closeup
no matter the brightness of the sun

About this poem

A poem about restoration. The light. Old barns and broken spirits. Poems are never about one thing.

The barn is in nearby Salem, NY.

Tom