You would have to be
        tone deaf
                or at least
misunderstood
        not to notice
                the tendrils
have started their climb
        up the crumbling
                threadbare
brick walls
        that hold up
                a discomforting
edifice. Usually
        it takes another
                week or two
before they become
        observant
                to the naked eye.
But were it not
        for my scarce
                intonation
you would be
        oblivious, still
                clinging
onto the notion
        that buildings
                are susceptible
to decay, without
        intervention
                on the part
of intrusive nature.
        I guess it’s just
                like you to think
our mediocre
        reconstructions
                of the house
first given us
        would not be
                overtaken
by the image
        first in line, that is
                the unspeakable
reference
        to discernible
                diurnal discourse.
If I said
        it was spring,
                would you at least
put down
        those blinders,
                and pretend
you’ve never stepped
        within those walls
                without retreat
to a source
        before the stone
                was rolled back?