When the Ceiling Falls
What art can we make
from our wreckage,
Our astringent rubble?
Pebbles have rattled loose
from our ceiling
under battering from
an overhead storm—
they precipitate in shapes,
hail in abstract form,
configure in sharp lines
on our living room floor.
Debris, dislodged
from our rooftop
and settled again
at our feet in off-octagons.
Bewitching asymmetry,
our destruction.
Pebbles pose,
and we pose,
our shadows manipulate
the lighting above our display,
shade our angular spaces,
smoothing the raised lines
of the ceiling tile
accrued by our sockless feet.