The Iron Lattice

Rust blossoms on the girders, petals of oxidation shedding onto the cracked asphalt below, where the thistle pushes through.

The wind hums a hollow tune through the ribs of the skeleton bridge, a ghost of traffic long silenced, replaced by the rhythmic click of crickets.

Dusk spills its lavender ink over the jagged skyline of industry, softening the edges of the broken glass that reflects a rising, indifferent moon.