Wind Break

From child memory

I recognize

                   you standing distant at the edge

of the abandoned field

          tall

         lank

      parched

       ragged

one

     of many

scarecrows waging stillness

against the winds of winter

        once

     long ago

      planted

       or left

in solitude to stand

cold roots clamped to lichened walls

come spring

a few sparse sprigs of youth

may scarf your branches and

lend you the warmth of middle age.