(residence for unseen children)
This loathsome building, raised from scraps
of mud and paste;
this doleful edifice we’ve come to from such
     distances,
vacillating from a sense of trust
     to hate;

its steel wove windows stamped with
silhouettes of tiny faces
humming madrigals of context
     locked in rebuses of icy laces;

black marks for crows on leafless branches
     scratched in ink
pressed flat against the sallow
    paper snow clouds.

Through a high gate along the melting walk
to a towering set of rusting bars, whose
    bitter chains
strung sleeping, coated in a crystal mist;

a young girl swings in a fog of breath;
     her wild hair
her wet red hands
      her glycerin eyes

heedless of the two stone angels
whispering in the fountain.

Jeff Thomas is a writer and artist from Long Island. Eyes went bad from wearing multiple corrective lenses drawing pubs and clock movements. Cooks and cares for multiply disabled daughter who figures often in his work.