"a carrying forward"

I move through the yard before dusk settles,
checking the latch on the side gate,
feeling the day thin out around the shed.
A faint breeze brushes the tin roof,
and I steady a loose plank with my boot,
letting the last light find its way across the grass.

You step into the same yard later,
noticing how the air cools near the tanks,
how the boards shift under your weight.
Your hand grazes the rough edge of the post,
and you pause, listening for whatever the evening
is willing to give without asking for more.

He walks the boundary line at dawn,
boots damp from the night’s drift,
eyes tracing the fence where the wire sags.
He kneels to check a rusted hinge,
lifting it just enough to see the gap beneath,
then rises, brushing dust from his knees.

A yard settles into its own rhythm.
Light moves across corrugated iron.
Grass bends, straightens, bends again.
A gate shifts in the breeze.
Somewhere, water gathers in a gutter
and carries the day forward.

.