As torrents blast
These ancient faces
Gaping maws of ages
A lance protrudes
Rust and mold and
Glass-smooth cobbles
Crushed beneath the
Wheel of time
Towering high
In swaying towers
Adorned by swarms
Precariously nesting
While hand and shovels
Reach into the
Layered mound
Uncovering, unravelling that
What is lacking
Anywhere else
A museum of accidents
O of destruction
Dried up wishing well