Photo From Pinterest
hewn granite splinters
cold cuboid shafts
plunged deep into
border soils down
below reach by the
fingers of freeze
a bucolic perimetry
surveyed in rods limns
the pale of grassed
livestock estates hems
the outskirts of visual
fields forlorn artifacts
wounded and bleeding
with rust of garroted
hard century cinches of
barbed iron wire when
taut in their turnings
were coaxing devices
that stretched rural air
post to post plumbed
and sturdy resisting
the impulse to wander
now lonely the era of
husbandry gone with
colonial ghosts these
stone purposeless pickets
lean bleak among weeds
left to wonder if life
will recall them to arms
From my book Small Noise
