the world freezes
before me, & after me,
the sirens are constant
through the day
the collapse has
come so quickly
that the rebuilding
has already begun-
here on the thirty
block, the sun teases
the guests of the city,
knowing full well the
light it sheds casts
more shadows, then hope
the orange splinters
embedded in the window
sill allow brief compass,
it is the wing in the west
it is the head pointing
east, waiting all night
for rest, and never
finding it, it is, the
mind that is in
Lockport dungeon, wresting
not unlike the owl,
smart predator, sharp beauty-
expelling ghosts and bones
in to the forest loam.
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