past the empty wicker chair
wound so tight against

the frame it protects 
that supports it

to occupy a singular purpose


steps timed so even
the bell tower cowers

the brick and mortar of
parliament watching

knowing no matter 
how right the angles

are always justified.


Still empty on the balcony
years after such painstaking assembly

tendons unraveling 
integrity caving 

beneath the weight 
of mere weather 

ghosts drift through
its avenue in snow. 


Homecoming from 
that war was quieter.

The bells tolled 
victory desperately

and widows stayed 
indoors for decades 

wrapped in shawls 
the mantle clocks unwound.

Their mending 
was unrivaled.