Sunday Sanctuary

I cross the trestle into a mist

of morning river

follow tracks and cross

the road, named after what was

and wander, acres, acres

of field that once belonged

to the State when it was in repair

Now, I'm in the weeds and thistle

of sun after rain, light-dazzled 

webs, whole ones, new ones and fresh

except, this broken fence won't need repair

this rusty hydrant won't extinguish

any fire, here, nobody's home

it's only a meadow –

it's only necessary

for weeds

All photos and text copyright Kelly DuMar 2017