I think they left the door open on purpose.

The farm leaked in. Sheep droppings among desks,

and snagged wool and the down of a hen.

How they must’ve walked, unsilent as they do, the mice

under rodent cabinets and the globe-eyed paperish skulls

of lesser primates. A parrot from a branch

in the caretaker’s home refused to tell,

but I watched the caretaker’s lone horse

stand against the school window for hours,

at the glass as at the surface of a book

printed especially for oneself,

horrified at its own bones.