A Hammer of Nails (Written October 14, 2013)

A Hammer of Nails


They are the color of oats, the hills

I travel through, over winding trails

And rocky terrain, the slender birch


Lighting the way. And yet,

As if by some miracle, the church

Where we were married still stands.


But the farmhouses, in the valley

Below, have been abandoned,

Leaving nothing to take their place,


Nothing for the future.

Everything is a race

To the bottom. Here, we pledged


To love and obey, but that was before

We lost the child, and hedged

Our bet, with a hammer of nails.

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