I keep looking for the cracks,

the tell tale sign of disrepair,

that stems from attic to foundation

and the worrying whisper of wet,

damp through rumours and idle gossip

of the leak somewhere in this housed body;

perhaps I should look for the solid join,

too few,

too few original parts,

just the undertone of shifting

boards that sigh, telling me it’s too late,

my edifice, my home

is breaking down.

Ian D. Hall 2018