Destruction

The barn stood for shelter
on squared corners with a tight roof
until the wind sucked it up
and split it out in a shambles
of splintered boards. I tried
to salvage the ruins. While I
pulled nails and sorted out
split studding, citizens of the
barnyard clustered around—pigeons
fluttered where once the ridgepole
hung, sparrows frisked through
broken window frames—and let me
sweat over the collapse of order.
I lit my pipe and tossed the match
toward the tumbled hay and let
chance decide if it lived or went out.
The flame caught, winked among the stems,
then tongued the air until
the draft formed a chimney and the
fire went mad. I leaned against a
corner post, the roar of the fire like music,
the lunge of its appetite now
beyond control.