I have not seen
cities set in stone.
Lately they have become
such fragile things
that I wonder if alone
is the way I am
supposed to be.

I have not seen
faces set like masks,
but stretched to laugh,
to sigh or gasp,
in stark contrast.
I have watched them collapse
as the axe
cuts them
from a light grin
to light receding
as pain’s wet reckoning
of regret falls on flesh.

These bodies are not
made of broken rocks,
but of wrinkled skin
made for changing,
exchanging time for
less and more.