The wind whistles
A low, low whistle
Through the tiny spaces
Between the windows and walls.

Little by little
This house falls apart
Much in the same way
The family did
So, so long ago.

When I see buildings scrape the sky
I imagine them swaying, enveloping, falling
Rooftops bending to kiss the earth
Glass exploding from windows
And raining down
Refracting vicious rainbows
Slicing the air.

When I see this house, though
It doesn't sway
It doesn't fall
It doesn't explode or implode

It just crumbles.

Little by little
Corners are worn and chipped
Paint peels into long, curling tongues
Cracks creep like slow lightning
Across dun walls
That once shone white.

Everything is falling apart with time
And we have not been spared
This house
                    or one another.