Who built the ragged stone field walls
that hide in the forest? They’ve seen
better days — beaten down by footsteps
and long gazes; held together only
by their human forgottenness.
Someone dragged that errata from the dirt,
boulder and slab, on a diet of sour bread
and sweet preserves; loaded them
on a sun-bleached cart and whipped
a well-loved animal into place.
We like to line things up — a trail
left in the grass, the mark of tectonic plates
moving away from one another,
generations of beaded civility in pursuit
of a perfect line; some of them waiting to be
completed, others just beginning.
© Trapper Markelz 2020
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