Rays of a dying sun,
reaching through cracks

a weathered stable roof,
lending a spotlight to the dancing dust,
an aerial ballet of tiny

flashes of light.
a wave of musty odour seeps into my nose.

Stepping into the coolness
mouldy straw rustles
under shuffling feet,
I sneeze, peering into a dusky corner,

only a spider stage crew , weaving
cobweb riggings
climb over a low wall,
rotted wood shedding splinters
into my palms,
two feet land on a rusty
milk bucket

pitched forward
into dry, powdery dirt

the floor.
swatting dark granules from my jeans,
passing aged milk stalls,
part a sea of rotting harnesses,
spare rope, slaughter hooks,
corroded chains hanging from behind a door

in the back.
an exhausted door hangs from one decrepit
hinge, cracked open
a calico mother, nestled in straw,

purrs cues to her children ,
bathed in a glow of afternoon light,
the dust ballet comes to a close

above an infant audience.