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Ekphrasis 10: Daniel Ribar + Katherine Abbott
by Daniel Ribar
*
Barn standing
If no fire guts it,
the sills rot out.
Oak a foot thick
will give to damp
within two hundred years.
Ice first split
the stone below.
Bore with a stone drill;
fill the groove with water.
One winter
will shear granite.
When the sills give,
the clapboards pleat
under the weight
of hay wagons.
The windows buckle,
and every summer
we mend the glass.
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Rustle
A quiet rustle of leaves reached into his pocket and took out a dollar. It was a simple theft, not soon discovered, if ever. It could feed her and nourish her wooded home. She could plant some flowers. Oh, but she would enchant a black-capped chickadee to carry her to market, and she would find her true love nestled amongst the parsley. It had been foretold. Lost in the glow of that vision, she didn’t notice the wind carrying the dollar away into the forest of barren trees.
by Daniel Ribar
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