Wheat and Tractor Tracks

Broken dollars
on freight trains.
Saw dust
smoke
and stale bread.

We were friends once,
you and I.
Hopping fences
in our sagging jeans
and worn in leather.

Your face haunts nothing now,
it’s just sad, is all.

To think of you,
kneeling
in a field of wheat
and tractor tracks,
holding her cold
and colorless hand
in yours.

She wouldn’t want this for you.

Sunlight penetrates
the cold
if you let it,
she’d say.

Chains aren’t your only keeper.
‘Tis the mind,
broken and weak,
overtaken by perverse tendrils
of wicked thought
that holds you captive.

Break what binds you.

Let sunlight in.

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