NATHAN LIPPS

 

 

                                     



GOOD POVERTY

 

 

Near the corner of property
now overgrown with black locusts
that writhe in the lack of wind

                       these ruins
of a barn once housed
too few cattle and heavy lanterns in morning
the slow waning mystery of darkness chasing
after darkness's purpose amid the broken laughter
of children learning about the movement of hay
through time

                       the great effort of it all
I come here often
as we all do
searching among these old stones
for that loud bucket of fresh milk.

 

 

                                                                                                      

 

      

 

                                   

 

 


TYPO 27