"Building a Road"
The ravens wake me up
pulling spikes out
of a cold plank.
The plank is a road
warped out of clay and bone
I have dug.
I have cut to the end
of alders to cinch my afternoons
to the wide throb
of the river
and cast out
to a ripple.
I pull the green song
up to me like
grandmother's hands
but the line hangs
up in my throat, hooks
on some old root.
Black sliver
through this earth,
this river.
The ravens wake me
up as I
hammer with a boy's
wrists, tightening
miles of barbed
wire. All life
leads to this:
building a road
down faint trails.
© 2006 Andrew Dufresne
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