The derelict hotel, the tower on the hill,
water in the tower,
the height of the tower, the place I…
The stairways can’t be trusted,
the lintels are arch.
The boy at lie
knows the balance of the woodpigeon,
the balance of his brothers,
my brothers, myself up here.
Brown light-switches and sheer masonry.
Fingernails scrape the watertank.
The boys in plimsolls pogo on the parapet.
The village among brothers, the place I…