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Samoa Highway 

Another barn down —
what is it about rubble
that so wanders my eye
from the road?

Is it the latent carpenter in me,
the joist salvager,
or just the itch to fix
what might not have been lost,

Or the treasure hunter,
seeking old gold rings,
jumbled tools and jewels,

Or yet again the pen-and-ink artist,
salvaging a last jagged line
from its final throes —
this tumbledown, strawbaled room?

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Rick Park

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