Behind my father's house
and across the creek
there used to be what used to be
an old mill.
Three black stone triangles speckled green
the carcasses of walls
ceiling free stood stooped around
a stagnant finger of water.
There is something sweet
in what sticks around
after a building fails.
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 12:37 AM UTC
Behind my father's house
and across the creek
there used to be what used to be
an old mill.
Three black stone triangles speckled green
the carcasses of walls
ceiling free stood stooped around
a stagnant finger of water.
There is something sweet
in what sticks around
after a building fails.