Resurrection
Though clipped wings
they are,
They nudge along
upwards
the tawny stemmed
tree that
almost shed
its leaves,
the bright
sky looking Askance
at the mystery
of
the yesteryears Bonanza:
the insect
on the
fallen , half withered leave
floats on the sailing
comrade
hopefully surrendering its
destiny the way
it is
steered through;
you stare at
the substandard
sand and brick
crumbling
along the storied
building,
Resurrection is misnomer
here.
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