What ghosts follow when you track
back so far? Stone foundations,
full of your words, crumble and roll,
and the pine pieces, marked by knots
of pain and despair, age away in
forgetfulness. Is this a blessing,
when the holes appear, let light and cold
pass, allow locked in grievances to leave?
Or does it all remain anyway, underneath
the rusted metal roof – the hurts
that can’t be released, circling around
the structure as time takes it down?
There’s still a place to let it go -
two squares and a circle.