You can walk the same road a hundred times and you still may not see the slant of the fence.
The slant of the fence doesn’t matter. It’s the angle and the curve and the way the light catches it just right, and the fact it’s the first time you noticed it. You see something more. You think the slant of the fence is a poem, a picture. You want to take it home.
The slant of the fence is a portal but you can’t fit through. You think you can sketch it and take someone there, you think you can find it. You can walk the same road a hundred times and still not see it. It’s the posts popping up on the same cadence, how the arms connect and seem to hold each other up. You know when to start and stop, you think: “the slant of the fence.” But other people have seen it and it’s just a fence, so there. You see something more.
You think the slant of the fence is a poem, a picture. Like you can pick it up and plant it somewhere else, “The Slant of the Fence.” Fences are fences and you’re a fool on a walk, with a whim. The slant of the fence will be there tomorrow with or without you. You think you see something more.