Your bricks and windows are staring down at me,
a cold wind picks up the few scattered leaves that have invaded the space.
As the sun sets the air glows frozen grey blue,
Pouring cold into green grey tarmac surrounded by factory buildings.
Water droplets frost the car windscreens sitting on the parking lot,
“We are watching you” you seem to whisper, and, I look up to see what may be there.
But just blank and broken windows look back in a long black stare.
Getting in my car I carefully wash away the mist, old buddlea branches scraping the paintwork,
left and left again, into the street, and away from old creeping ghosts and memories of Clay.