Updated: Oct 5
The farmhouse I pass
by the side of the mountain road
is a ruin, a shell,
long abandoned, empty of humanity.
Still, you’re here,
up against a crumbling wall.
I’ve never seen you like this before,
your body stretched along the nerves of the pine wood,
your arms raised in surrender,
embracing the wooden halo flaming up above your head.
Suffering in these mountains needs no cross.