Ruins

The prompt this month for a workshop I host was – Ruins

‘Ruins’

Sometimes it’s an indentation

in a mattress Goodwill will pick up

in the morning.

Where bodies once dreamed

now silence sits between cups of coffee

trying to remember the last conversation.

Recriminations walk among walls

of collapsed cathedrals of good intentions,

and among arches of promises.

Ivy tries to thread together forgiveness.

Columns stand as rigid sentinels

where roots burrow into micro fractures.

Evening descends in long shadows,

settles in hidden broken spaces.

no names carved above the door,

no banners flutter in a wind,

or half-forgotten love songs whistled

through broken window panes.

The freeze and thaw grows fissures,

where tiny flowers will grow wild

in the stones of a ruin in progress.

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