I like it best like this,
Grown-over; healed,
Like a war-time wound,
The memory stays though the bleeding's over.
A beautiful building,
Walls crumbling down,
Fireweed clambering up,
Patching the wound,
Healing the visable past.
But the memory still lingers,
Of perfect walls.
The memory that follows,
Of raw wounds in the brickwork.
And then,
Healing new life,
Climbing up the walls,
Fireweed.
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