Pelgris

Half cast shadows shift in the broken light
Stop motion shades flit from open doorway to open doorway
Huge rusted hinges showing where vault doors once hung
Fear hangs like grease in the soft twilight air
The man shaped thing strides through his city
Draped in the cloth of forgotten night
Wet air bubbles and shifts like touching a hot skillet
The doors are open
The cane by his side bends and shifts
Once a staff, once a blade
He thirsts
But his city lays barren
Patches of green
turned brown and wilted
dot the hanging gardens
A testament to what was and what may be
In this forgotten city of memory