from the Iroquois Museum came the story
  of a sky woman who fell thru the clouds
and was caught by geese who set her down
  on a turtle’s back. Thus, people came
 
on Bear Road there were no bears
on Schoolhouse Road only a swamp
on the state highway freight trucks
  roared past us for half a mile
and on Red Barn Road somebody had
  recently painted a barn red
 
and there the mud-covered cows charged toward us
  and waited for a word at the hot-wired fence
 
we told them we meant
  Helios no offense
 
weeping willow trees were always close to houses
  while lichen-covered, crag-wrinkled trees
had faces to be seen, recognized on them
 
all these barns with roofs sagging like wet paper
  tear themselves down by decay
 
unstitched nails pop from buckled walls
  under which the white ash and maple sprout
 
when we came down from the hill
  where fog enshrouded us
rushing water in culverts
  was loud but invisible