The farm
in Ohio
nestled in the valley—
she is the beloved oasis—
Glenford.

Farmhouse,
quiet old girl,
built to last, when things did,
she’ll outlive me, that much I know.
I’m glad.

The pond,
down the valley,
cross the creek, round the bend,
doesn’t mind if we swim or not—
algae.

The woods—
step back in time,
gnarled trees, moss, climbing rocks,
bobbing white tails—a doe and fawn—
listen.

The hill—
ritual hike
to the top of the world.
Fields as far as the eye can see,
the farm.