I’ve unlocked the post of my field
The damn bookend that holds the seal
Has gone away with the morning hues of red.
I walked out into the winter storm
To feed the animals inside of me
A broken button healed my heart
And two burners boiled my water.
So just as my ticker has begun to tock
I’m whispering my odes to oaks,
I’m dressed in my Sunday best
To forget the truth of tomorrow.