Sturdy length of wire
plucked from a cache of garden treasures
gathered in a worn wooden box
as heavy in my grasp
as indecision in my heart
cut from fence around a faraway yard
worth considered
saved for a chore like the one at hand
my father was an old school gardener
recycled long before required to
this simple metal strand binds me to him
reminds me of him
images of long lost spaces
keen red roses protected by biting thorns
drifting hearts inclined to complicated love
signs seem to find me
unexpected wind turns my head
notions of flight like starlings in the trees
beckon
still
old hands hold me steady
will not let me go
old ways own me
keep me safe
protected even from myself
behind the mended gate
