Slow moving shadows crawl across canyon walls as the sun declines
Old wind chimes stir on porches where no footsteps have sounded
Thin trails of steam rise from manholes in streets gone silent
Lone grain elevators stand like monuments above towns that dissolved
Dried wild grasses whisper in wind through lots where houses collapsed
Old telegraph poles lean in formation toward horizons that forgot them
Shallow footprints fill with rain in dirt roads no tires have crossed
Weathered barn doors hang by single hinges in frames the wind still moves
Thin curls of smoke rise from chimneys in valleys no road descends to
Abandoned mills sit silent where rivers shifted course without permission
