it had been raining 
most of the day
still, we pressure-washed
in the silver light
under thick clouds 
this old farmhouse
he refused to dismantle
because he had reverence
for the permanence 
in which the old-timers built

he bought me lunch
we sat in metal folding chairs
in his clean and ordered barn
rain on the metal roof
a noise attached 
to such black memories
I keep to myself
we ate simple burgers
after he prayed

if I were younger
I would mistake him
for that yearned for 
father figure
but he’s just an old man
who charges me rent