A glimpse of green is all I can see
From behind this wasting wall
Erected by solitude and razed with laughter
I’m trapped beneath the mute judgment of decaying brick
Each stone laid hurriedly by coarse hands that shake in the cold
With blistered fingers that crack and bleed and long to brush that smile again . . .
Photograph and Prose copyright Mike Yost 2016
[ hidden void photography ] 