I dream of barns,
Great vast structures a century or so old,
Weathered boards painted a noble red or deep blue,
Trimmed in white edging and rough stones,
Lit from within by the warm, flickering glow
Of tableside lamps with stained-glass shades,
Coaxing me to linger a while on cracked leather couches,
Curled up with one of ten thousand escapes
Bound up in paper and bordered by clothboard.
I dream of trees,
Of wind whistling through wild Ohio woods,
Streams winding between their roots
And around mossy boulders, giants’ marbles
No sound of traffic or neighbors fighting,
Just the cracks and crumbles of squirrels and deer
Setting about their business
Of timeless, of natural, of life.
I dream of family,
Wife, two kids, a couple of cats,
Bickering over simplicities like homework and chores,
Football games and band concerts and trips to the grandparents’,
Celebrating tiny achievements in the local papers,
Remembering the places we used to go and live
When we were younger and still fighting
Tooth and claw, body and soul,
To gather the materials needed
To forge this, our little world.