The corpses of butterflies long dead circle in endless
whirlwinds, piling into corners of the abandoned school yard.
The swing set creaks to life, rusty from years unused.
Invisible legs pump empty seats, back and forth. Back and forth. A lazy time
kept to the rhythm of the lifeless skies.
Silence paces up and down the cracked sidewalks; and loneliness
walks beside, holding hands. The grey moss underfoot swallows up all echoes
of footsteps in its thick, sleepy carpet.
Memories here do not let go.
