The faces fade to ash

Photographs discolored to the sickly yellow

Of rotting buttercups and stagnant sunlight

Captured in dust-coated rooms  

Disintegrating into something less than nothing

But more than their stale gold backdrop

The faces of no one lost in amber

Sequestered, like flies in resin,

In the boarded up walls of nowhere          

Blown away on the cyclone of someplace else

In the tornado that flings empty faces                 

Into the abyss

Just short of somewhere

The faces fade

Ash