Foundations measured oft and laid
With painstaking care in precise order
Even lines and distributed weight-
A cement marriage, balanced daughters,
But the brick rubble of the prior structure
Heaps into my mountain view
The sense of constant deconstruction
Urging me to build anew
Yet these bricks will just as likely crumble
I cannot build to former glories,
And each brick inside my simple hovel
Has seen a more magnificent story.
And I look for those who wear their gloves
Who understand what bricks may mean,
The perishing beauty in single pieces of
Antique constructions now unseen.
Some days I go out alone
To sit among bricks of disordered decay
Listening to palacial whispers
From fallen yesterdays.
viewingcamelot 
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