A broken crane hanging down amongst skyscrapers,
threatening to fall apart,
a very physical Damocles’ sword
I imagine the persisting shrieking of the weather,
a wrathful unframed mouth
disgorging shrapnel after shrapnel of the world,
the gutters exploding in the dark,
the living daylights wiped out in volleys of angry stars,
rubble blazing into sight, roof-beams dangling
juxtaposed like asterisks, shattered flasks
engorging, later, the silence.
A staircase left where a house was,
towering alone, you could walk up on it
climbing into a nowhere.
Questioning the wind
like a dishevelled druid
or a poet stung by
the incomprehensible shards of his lines.