 |
| No home, but a boat, no longer afloat, on an otherwise empty lot. |
The city disappeared
in spinning ghosts of wind;
half, never to re-emerge
from under Poseidon’s trident.
A softer whisper
carries the mournful cry
of brass,
still strong in its sadness.
Yet now, the ghosts seep still
from the crevices
of lonely, misshapen timber
of homes
since forgotten.
