I dream of the abandoned factory
living testament to a good idea
now allowed to rest and to ruin.
My foundation grows into the ground:
grasses and weeds both anchor me
and consume my own structure.
Rooks nestle in my hair;
feral cats fearlessly hunt equally fearless feral rats.
Teenagers throw stones into my eyes
cracking the glazing:
plywood cataracts temper vanished vision.
My arms, my head lost to vandals.
At rest, alone, one with the elements.
Sitting in the window,
the wind rustles the trees.
reading yet more travel itineraries
weather brisk sunshine