The top floor
is vacant, has been cleared, lobotomized,
yet windows freckle the brick near the roof.
Most are blank,
have been boarded up from the inside
but are too high to correct through removal.
Squared glass sprawls
across brick, a clothesline constellation,
a kinked garland. This whole building bears
correction from having
twice been toppled, brighter brick slicing into
rustier stone, scythes, shark fins, sails.
Forward flight, resistance,
every city rises of it. Tenants settle around what
exists, barnacular. There have been witnesses.