Even the trees
by Pubudu Sachithanandan
Even the trees
are matt and quiet
gently attached
to history.
The cold
matches the grey walls, mortar
worn
to runnels
between scarred
stone.
Near the door
to staircase number 4
a bushy creeper
arches, thick
over a black lantern
(unlit)
By the quad, the gables
are darkened by
centuries of rain.
Aging gargoyles
like chunks of sea-
smoothed coral,
misshapen
cherubim
(A small black ant
on the white macbook
struggles
for a foothold,
falls)
All rights reserved by the writer. Not to be copied, distributed or otherwise used without permission.
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