plunge your hands into wet concrete
until the world hardens around you
your fruits have withered
in the unforgiving august sun
heavy doors that were painted bright colors
they creak now, the wood wrapped and rotting
time watches its creations die
the soft spring breeze is a long forgotten dream of yesterday
did you even truly experience it when it was here?
was it a small blister of wind that aired out your cozy home,
or was it a furious, howling storm that crashed through the abandoned frame of a house you used to call your own?