He might hate it
but for the rusty nailed matriarchs of the land
and the howling wind.
And though I feel sideways to the flow of the river,
the highways, the culture’s stream, there are moments
where all that falls gently silent.
A deep belonging rises from the soil and dries the sweat
that built this town first,
and rebuilds it over and over again.
My connection to the land overrules my love of leaving.
