Thin Place

By Devin Johnston
White ash,
you wait for me

as I will wait
for someone.

What but skin
feels the wind,

what darkness
makes distinctions?

Breaking down
dusk and dawn,

housewreckers
on horse scaffolds

syncopate
their hammers.

Brick dust
drifts like smoke,

tents of habitation
withdrawn,

hinges of habit
undone.


Source: Poetry (April 2010)