The Architecture of Rust

Iron spines bend towards the river, weeping oxide tears into the slow current, while the concrete forgets the imprint of footsteps that once paced out the rhythm of the morning shift.

Windowpanes, opaque with decades of exhaled breath, stare blindly at the encroaching ivy, green tendrils mapping new streets where the asphalt crumbles into quiet dust.

We built these monuments to outlast the flesh, but the wind hollows them out like dry bones, leaving only the ghost of an industrial hum vibrating faintly in the hollow of a rusted beam.