Weathered wood, gray with age,
Rusted nailheads in cracked slats,
Black burned brand of the Libby cannery.
Dead. Dry.
Dusted by sunlit particles of dirt
Finely filtering through broken beams
To rest a short span on split boards.
Bounding silently, like a deer,
Blue Cat bedevils the dust.
Dislodged, disrupted, disturbed
By Blue Cat's stretch and tread,
Dun colored layers rise in waves of gold
Between the sun and me.
Broken beams shed their freight
On impact with particles
Finer than flyspecks.