a worn out farm
lodged on aged
horses’ backs
slow whither,
rainwater spewed
from gutters
choked on past
autumn leaves
shingles curl
at edges,
warp and weather
slick black
in the rain,
a tired cracked
grey beneath
high noon.
all the fallen
houses I have known,
gaping doors
and windows
always the roof
to bear down
on the rot,
witness to all
manner of decay
the estate
overgrown
settles beneath
thick leaves
moulding bound
in brush and vines
dandelions bloom
out of dark gramophones
flies impose on sepian figures
preserved under glass
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