Fallen timbers
criss-cross like bones
protruding from shallow graves.
They were once barns,
sheds,
outlying buildings.
Among other things,
they kept
they kept
what the reaper brought.
Now,
for all of us who pass them
as we travel this rural highway,
they hold the future,
haunted
by snow that drifts ghost-like
through the empty fields
where they lie.
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