the child reaches
the mother cannot reach
the horror the horror,
then resignation.
and yet, next door
the un-resigned results
of intelligence and insanity,
beautifully blended.
outside another stands
in this redundant place,
just above now-still tar.
was it once so inescapable?
or is that just imagination?
the building,
neither obliterating
nor conforming,
shelters imagination
where beauty is a pane of glass
and truth is in still-bubbling tar