Way out on the prairie, a house stands
Empty of the echo of farm-feet
Cracking paint lets all the air fall through,
Windows open to the wind, oh, open to the wind
And as it passes, there's a ghost-tale in a sigh:
'They came, drew breath,
And made the miracle of everyone:
The human feat, of hewing life from all that might have been, I
Heard them cry aloud for grief and love,
Make their cacophony of facts and actualities; a marvel.
'I heard them hope
I heard them worry down beneath the fall, I heard them fail
I watched them leave.
I saw the dust die when they stopped.
And now the house is hanging open at the boards.
'History is routed, and entropy wears splinter-robes
Bragging of its only trick, and naming me in vain:
"Behold, the heartless wind!" But I lament.
'Humanity was here, but not for long.'