Bulk Fuel Facility Gate

Bulk Fuel Facility Gate
The gate itself, courtesy of Esmé Ann.

Children are huddled up behind
the faded wooden slats.
Excited, intense,
ladybugs crawling from wood to finger—

They scatter when I lean too close.

It’s an ugly gate
but the ferns touch it tenderly
fireweed and foxglove
reclaim and diffuse

Passion must hide
what intimacy reveals;
splinters stick in my fingers,
the gate is stuck

and heaven, and horses,
and dreams,
all on the other side.

Here is a link to the full-size photo on Google+ by Esmé Ann that this poem is based on. You must be a Google+ member to see; ask in a comment if you’d like an invitation to join.

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