Skidding into the prompt and just under the wire:
A chime of rust echoes through empty stalls.
The emporium lies fallow, memories
reverberate around skeletal walls,
olden posted bills now only a tease.
The trailing edge of gentle summer squalls,
having allotted the day’s drip to wait,
clutch their saffron hue as evening falls.
Kisses on the iron to ruminate.
The slowly growing crystal tendrils pierce
metal meant to last until forever.
Or so felt youth looking forward and fierce
not yet feeling time’s taste for sharp pepper.
Wandering now? A dizzy nesting house finch,
and a wizened old crow picking a cinch.
It’s a start for later work. Given how this conference has sucked the air from me, I’m surprised this came out… Also, I tend to cut a syllable, bringing “wandering” to “wand’ring.”
Plus two more sentences, assuming I still can count:
A day of unscheduled activations has left my switch set to off.
I stand outside the spiraling glass heights but within myself.