Buildings

The antic dwellings are loosing

Foothold of it charismatic tradition;

Stone walls and shingled roofs,

Ornamental windows,

Wooden shutters,

Are only discreet souvenir!

Our warm hamlet house,

Humbly droops to the concrete

Innocence betrayed,

My man’s desire for the cold

Bricks upon the green hills

Of rising towns.

Into the pine woods, giant buildings

Crawls and creeps,

Like boulders of the shore,

Bare and roofless and sore

Bereft of an oven,

Chimney and sizzling ambers.

Moss eaten, darkly,

Slimy green, on it’s walls

That cracks and peels

In summer time

When the foliage roots grows.

Even a crow must disdain;

To nestle in the sad niches

Reeking of bricks;

And trowel cement,

The giant scar,

Smeared in paints.