impossible to know if anyone beyond our time will walk here and dig chicory flowers blue the brownlands wind and I sigh perhaps they will hypothesize a lost civilization, divine a weird economy sprays of rebar shopping mall floor rain slicked perhaps they will ponder the nature of the cataclysm, postulate a plague old wall … sun-warmed tile clinks underfoot impossible to tell what we liked best - to dig, to build, or to destroy shivered concrete paved good intentions freeze thaw freeze … perhaps we liked the familiarity of the cycle, though it seems we called it progress