Pink and grey and blue,
hither and yon,
course on course,
like a dusty palette
in an abandoned studio.
Bricks, sculpted daily
by the coarse wind
on its untamed journey,
reveal their wounds.
As if bored by their decades
they yawn and grimace
as the shadows voyage
across their brows.
Or they smile
rebellious
in their revelation.
Yet stand they do,
in defiance
of element,
testimony
to a past
which
remains.
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