by Abigail Schott-Rosenfield (’14)

Birds ring the frame
where the ceiling used to be.
They stare, they dip their beaks
into the empty cabin: the indented

seat, the floor covered in gray
prints.

He worked alone—
stepped hard
and emerged often,
removing rocks and other
hard things.

Break it up, break it up.
Others will follow.

They set their shape to the metal
like a strand:
one could not move
without the others.

Black birds
employ the ruins

as they took the corn
when it was full and ripe

and one black bird followed another
into the fields.