by Jennifer Key

To the fan in the barn, its blades turning air

To the bristle on each brush

To dog whistles hanging from a nail

To the cat crouched in quiet

And stalls bearing buckets of water

To bamboo in the grove, supplicants of snow

And boxwood veiled in cobwebs

To the groove in the saltlick

To pastures where horses stood hock-high in spring melt

No icepack in Virginia keeps the past

Nothing lasts

Jennifer Key is the author of The Old Dominion (University of Tampa, 2013).