Whether you can tell from this distance what <br /> the house was before it was <br /> consumed by wildness, by rampant <br /> <br /> greenery is only partly the point. Its grand dreams have aged, <br /> the ravage, evident to the eye. <br /> Devoured by whispers what remains <br /> remains grey-shingled & silver shadowed. <br /> <br /> Green leaves whisper ruin, vines whisper ruin; boughs whisper ruin… <br /> Whispers of things not allowed. Of things someone <br /> thought was said. <br /> <br /> The present's the movie of the past, a dialogue of disembodied voices, <br /> each talking to the other, over the other, a polyphonic contestation of desire <br /> undiminished by time. <br /> The rooms the lonely rooms echo with them. <br /> <br /> The ocean—a thin ribbon of blue—contends in its own element <br /> with a never-ending susurration. <br /> From the outside, you can barely see the faces through the window screens. <br />From the interior—the dim, decrepit interior—the long windows are full of leaves & light.<br /><br />John Taggart<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/time-lapse-quot-grey-gardens-quot/
