Do you remember
that day in the barn,
light falling through
slats like gold across hay,
and how your
hand slipped, my fingers curling around your wrist
like rope
cinched tightly around the saddle below?
You simply
laughed as you dangled and twisted,
suspended above
the long fingernails of the rusted baler,
laughed and
arched your back like a ballerina,
your free hand
extended in grace, fingers splayed with joy.
I, lips pursed,
pulled you into the loft, our true home,
you settling
like a scarecrow into the deep straw,
and we looked
out at the many years in the distance
and promised to carve
them like mountains into the waiting sky.
~William Hammett
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