Bnoeyard

A fearsome lock
On a broken gate:
The last word
On what happens
When it's all over:
The sun shines equally
On your back and mine
The breeze sifts through
The pine boughs
The apples braid their way
Out of the graveyard
And into the wilderness.
Deer graze. Hawks glide.
The sun rises, rises, rises.
And we are here
Where the sun will continue to rise.
We will continue to be here.
All is well.