Vast new monstrosities,
lined-up,
aside old architecture,
stood in the shadows,
as am I - beneath,
the ancient high-rise.

It's had a facelift,
since I saw it last,
refurbished -
it brings down,
hidden memories,
from stagnant trauma,
violent infantile time,
spent,
in an abode of old.

Rusted cycle,
on the banks of the lean canal,
flanked by the crack of alabaster,
and, the grimace of limestone.
Flowers rotten,
and, forgotten,
aside, a brooding statue.

All the while I'm drawn toward the snake-like, slippery skin of a shimmering cascade.

There's an aquatic attraction,
to plumes of smoky water,
atop the lily pads,
which rival those chest armours,...