Reach

Out in the near dark I hear

The clink of the old coffee can, 

He slings goats’ grain and pellets,

Checks their water on his way 

To swim

The light

From that small barn imperceptible

From where I sit, relishing the outside, 

Scents of grow, 

Blink of fireflies

Something gorgeous

Pulls the

Towel ‘round his shoulders, 

Pulsing out towards pond’s dark pastel, 

Trails leading to the dock,

And I know,

Myself,

Alighting to view

Nighttime’s long twilight, 

(So rich, the looking back), that 

Old things glow from 

Barn gardens’ stoney beds,

And from the pond. It all  

May never be enough,

May be enough, 

It simply is.