The buildings crumble slowly

Cement walls expose once hidden dark red bricks

Those who slowly crawl past the scene see the structure’s open wounds

Observing the crushed blocks that have spilled to the ground like puddles of blood

I am oblivious to the desperate depiction that overcomes these spectators

For them, the scene evokes pity

They wonder what happened to the aging structures

Had they taken too many punches to the gut

Had they cried as the chunks of dried mortar slipped from their sides

As I look at the dying buildings, I see nothing but possibly, hope, and resurrection

Their sagging structures draw me in,

Inviting me to imagine the scene long ago, when the glorious town prospered

I let my eyelids slowly shut,

I can hear the steady rhythm of a saxophone,

Sweet melodies that seem to cling to the air

In an instant the visage is gone,

In the air rings a sudden stillness,

The musicians left mid-song

The air is once again heavy,

The scene dark except for the few shafts of light marking the floor with nature’s patterns

I take out my camera

This is my haven