by Emma Reilly

silence seeps from you
fog on an asphalt winter’s day
you are a place for ghosts
buzzing metamorphosed into a creaking tinnitus

                                     no one soars from your appendages anymore
                               they moult
                        dead shells of steel and plastic

                  women and men in work suits
             trample across your trodden lines
        burrowing you
without even knowing

your name
passed on for generations
meaningless now