Leading across the face of things,
Two dirt roads, one the crossings,
The other the destination tides,
As through this sea of wind and
Wheat, there can be epic waves,
Brought about by breezes so simple
Yet with much power, that will curl
The top halves like tinsel, but
Strengthen the roots, as locks that
Bind so tight and close to the ground.
The southern blows so steady,
Across the back of the worn house,
That leans its way north
And faces the blows with its back,
The wheel of its bow now straight,
And the decks bolted down,
To maintain the course.
Ralph Peck
Photograph by Mark Mascilli
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