Salvage

You found me

in a scrap yard,

salvage misunderstood,

languid in the deadening

of a long shade,

undergrowth, underwood.

From flesh to mottled stone,

one arm missing, chipped nose,

still eyed statue leaning,

bracken-snared,

moss-grown.

Rust exposed inner parts,

all stops here for hushed endings, 

few chances for restarts,

this is where we go to

when we miss

the last train home.

For shipwrecks, fault lines,

battle scars on display,

yet you rescued me

from this wilderness,

my hinterland

anyway.

Image from pixabay.