LARRY HIRSHBERG

 

Ruin

Somewhere, the biggest window
is always open, an unspeakable gale
pouring forth. Monumental figures
stand home for ages, then fall
down the wind.
Behind them, the thick cushion
of residence. Minus that comfort,
the fractured ground promises
nerves, random stimulation.
A fat root breeds no passage.
The right rip can ventilate static,
unholy cavities, force breath
into stagnant chambers...
Leavers need resolve,
not reason.
A good plan can be left
like a handshake.