There were houses once.
Sometimes you find them when you walk through the thick tangle of second-growth.
A foundation pit, or for the older ones, the base of a frame, tied together by moss.
When people write about the post-apocalypse, I wonder if they have ever wandered through the places where the human world has passed.
I startled a garter snake once.
The way he fled through the shattered window frame reminded me of a maggot exiting an eye socket.
In the world where all life balances on the edge of a razor-
Our passing marked only by a claim marker, half-felled by snow.
By the words to describe a fire hydrant-
Balanced on the fine border of nowhere.
If you want to travel with me to unabandoned places, I have also written a fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor. It is available here.