looks desperate, angry even
behind that bleachwood gate
and that jaw toothed with antlers
and old kills.
The Engebretson’s new black driveway
tongues along a split rail fence, warps
around that burial mound too sacred
for furrows and even
new black driveway can’t swallow
the ruts that run to that skankwhite barn
and it’s doors, loose-hinged and sideways.