Red Barn in Colorado with its Poem

It was the apple that stuck in my mind

under those eves of winter. 

A  small farm with a long chicken house and a few cows.

Frost on the hay, creaking floorboards 

An apple after dinner from the winter barrel.

Up into the attic with a small bed left from his high school days. 

There wasn’t any starting out, no big bang, no starting over

 Just a melting in of circumstance,

A final evaporation in the cold.