Roman Ryan

Our deeds 
fence the land
trenching benches
on which we do 
not rest.

Time is our
quarry. We 
dig hope moats
to float as 
many hours as 
we cannot count.

We lever for
ever to sever
our ties to
now. Never
is always one
barb away;

                    our
clever wires will
remain parallel to
control over our
numbered days.