Tumbleweeds

My morning coffee in this side café
Brings comfort, lost comfort
Not completely lost on me
Russian thistle blown along
Collected on fence lines
By strong winds song
So many thorns and dried up sage
We can only burn them
Out of the way
To make room for comfort
Room for new life
Room to grow on this lonely highway.
I ride the fences and prune
I mend these busted sections
For I cannot mend you
And none of these are rot proof.
Rusted nails and cracking wood
Weathered in time, aged for good
Worn colors of rainy grain
Worn cold and dry some love remains
But each day is picked up by the wind
Slivers briskly taken and spin
Etching gouges in my fence
Deep lines in my life, the slow resent
Tumbleweeds rolling past
Sharp and dry
I haven’t seen one since
My broken fences let you
Roll with them.

--Diva