Lost Cities

This despicable knot, unctuous man, unkind to doors. I have him in my eye, as a sir, and as a daring fly. He remembers not. I am the one who remembers, alone in his dead house. His roots slip out and dissolve. He topples and lands, again and again, as the ghost of a different metropole. Pompeii, Mohenjo-daro, Tikal.