Inadvertently discovered wrecks of lost endeavors, identified somewhat By pinpoint shimmering within thickening ash and smoke from a trio of stacks at dawn
Inadvertently discovered wrecks of lost endeavors,
by pinpoint shimmering within thickening ash
and smoke from a trio of stacks at dawn.
A curious hint when purposefully investigating
the disintegration of billowing exhausted soot
for reclaiming ore particles.
Unrecognizable to wise and wide-eyes witnesses
save one, unrecountable.
Some say it doesn’t matter.
Wanton guilt hidden paper-wedged
in an unlit lamp corner crevice
between the moulding and the plaster.
The grand valley house taken up by a disregarded prediction
of runover river waters, resettled a little further
than a foal would trot and bicker for greener grains
Only to be, a decade or so later,
waterlogged and drowned by the next year dam.
Unimportant papers floated face up
to be bleached along the shoreline stones for scavengers.
Echoes from the deep underneath whisper
through the older forest mists when it rains.
Who is to blame, really?
As if anyone is a sole actor, alone.
It’s a deep consideration.
A wobbly slapwood cart laden with discarded trinkets and treasures
once held dear and close as babies and pets.
The ramble birds pick through it irreverently and mock away.
Nearby, a nearly sightless elder, resting,
recognizes the passing scent.
Altering his ancient face to a strict concern
a song comes to mind that he heard a time ago
while falling from a grave misfortune.
Some Scrutinize the fading film remnants
Project them across cheap screens or linens
for their oddly curious fellows.
The villains and heroes have unknowingly swapped places
dead so long no soul remains to defend their intentional glances.
What language is that?
These golden heart strings simply become life’s death lances.
Annual flowers smell the sweetest.
Because these things are true
as true as the dim lights in the late night sky
are set too far away to capture, claim or know.
Mixed up gasses, they appear to always recede
in time, fail, will fall from the believed ceiling into shatters.
Newly open, bare to the ferocious sun
do we realize since the first sand drawn maps
sought to make sense of the distances between here and there
That South, not North, might have been the better guide
to save our lives.