Windows like eyes into the departed
cracks in the glass retain the wrinkles of veins
and the spiders at work making their gauzy veils.
A breeze wanders in an out, echo of infinities
it sweeps the last particles of bones into dust.
Rarely do the rays in the new twilight do
enter this tomb of whispering memories.
Yet something stirs within the ruins
glowing with the force of a birthing furnace.
Strangers stay at bay before the eerie miracle
as electricity invades the air threatening their
essence so fragile in the face of the unknown.
Ignorant they think it a ghostly presence
their hearts shrunken by the certainty of a death.
an abandoned soul lies in the middle of the room
gently heaving beneath the crumbling beams
it is a collector of treasures to another dream.
Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review as well as other publications.