Sweep the Barn Floor

the dirt and dead birds,
the threshing floor
cut baseball cards from 1940
and a fencing suit
that belonged to the landlady.
At that time, who were we?
while she wove her sabre like a needle
en garde, heavy, lunged her opponent
breath labored under mask.
We were specks, little ideations
nothing more. We were cuttings
from the rose bush, stemless, round
flowerfaced and no thorns, not yet.
The barn and the house kept time
tapped impatient feet
in syncopation. They waited on us
for 133 years. The barn burned out
the top floor, lost. Still, it keeps
secrets, parts held on and hidden
for you, dear one. I see your face shine,
see your delight as you pull treasure
from nothing, My explorer
unearther, Allez.