in
the workers have been out
there all
day in the cold
the lock is on.
the hinges.
the wood is tight.
i see them sitting on the stones
smoking.
talking quietly between
themselves.
their work is done
as the winter
sun
slips down.
i watch them go.
then go out to the gate.
i try the latch.
i remember
others
who have opened it,
others who have come and
gone.
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