Some young tree gave of itself
to become this fissured fence post.
Some bit of earth gave of itself
to yield the metal that became the wire.
Some determined settler hammered
these rusted nails to keep the cattle in.
Some dream was lived on this land,
now gone wild,
becoming what it used to be.
All other fence posts lay in decay.
Weeds unite to topple this last one over,
as saplings rise up to push loose the wires.
For years, they have conspired
for the liberation of this field,
bolstered by the rain, the sun,
and winters that always come.
And yet, this one post remains.
It doesn’t really matter now,
after so many seasons,
of confinement and rebellion,
the post, the field
have remembered they are one.