Scraps and shadows

Old match boxes grey photos
Bits of bright paper
A dream of scraps and shadows
Carefully arranged
The textures rough and smooth
Each shape cut sharp
And clean against the blank
White backdrop
We read as empty sky
Over gray buildings
Their faces cold
As drear November rain
The only life a few
Small figures
Before a great wall
Rising white and wordless
Behind them
Indifferent
As Ahab's nemesis
A flat denial
Of all our flimsy
Pink and yellow hopes