You wonder, if I talk to a wall will it talk back. No, of course. But then, there is the cracks and holes that chip and crumble to mix in with the dirt below. Slowly falling apart and shifting with the wind and weather. Molding into a wall that is not what it once was. Standing still so long in place, as if morphed into a statue. Watching, waiting for something to happen. Renovations to come they say, replacements too. Something more sturdy. Then brick by brick, the wall starts to falter, piece by piece. Until there is only a shadow of an imprint in the surface of a line. A straight gray line improperly empty without the piece that keeps it hidden, warm and protected. Defenses down and renovations on halt, no wall to hold back the world. So the world breaks in and consumes the whole of everything. Sunlight illuminating the wink hole that swallow the pieces, one after another. Lights flicker, sand bags topple, dust scattered like burning ash. The surface coated in chips and bits of piece of the bricks that once held back the inevitable. It all goes now. Under moonlit circumstance, the entirety of all falls, crash and clusters down a hole into nothing. Birds on the outskirt swaying and swooping. It all ends not with a bang but with a chirp, somewhere in the ashes.