On the deck, in the cold that doesn’t seem
too bad at first, I stroke the banister.
The wood pulls away, stabs a splinter
into my finger. It got so dry since they
first sank the nails now weak with rust,
now brown and tired as the boards.
K. E. Kimball
Photo Credit: Malte Sörensen. https://www.flickr.com/photos/malte_s/