The dust that waitedThe dust that waited in still-bred silence for the windMore Like This
That would take them to the sky:
A maelstrom of musty rabbits choking the clouds in the anticipation of corkscrewing wind.
The left-for-dead house hunched alone on the wide flat plain,
With nothing save a few spare, withered heads of grain whispering about it.
The dim scaled wings of moths echoed to the tune of the house’s sighs,
Attracted only by the dim light of a lone flickering lamp—
Throwing its meager life against the grimed walls of glass,
Not terribly eager to only attract the dull drone of moths.
Cracked bindings stood loosely together,
Pages within starved and shr