Today, heels dug in to dirt like cleats,
while hands, blistered from tension, pulled
and fought, in a tug
of war.
A tug of absolute, insurmountable certainty
that only the future could possess.
A tug, like the final pull of the starter
cord before the engine bursts forth
with new life; animating lost spirits
like breath to dying coals.
Today, the cold wind beckoned sharp-edged shadows
and splintered lumber
to meet like secret lovers,
toes squishing in soft, frosty soil,
knocking dead limbs off trees, while
white curtains
dancing in the shade of the north-east
in the afternoon
looked out at the bland horizon
and saw birds coming home.