Composition in Primary Colors

PHOTOGRAPHER'S JOURNAL:   

Empty Factories

They are like cloisters

battered and broken,

time feels bigger here

space grander 

than walls imply

When time stops,

instants are eons,

and a drop 

of river's flow

is oceans overflowing

They are like cloisters,

I walk by stained and broken glass

ponder how things decay,

my tripod aligns and spreads the rowed columns,

my lens fixes each time-sculptured brick in its crystal grip

When motion ceases

silence rumbles,

by and by

the quickness

of black night

They are like cloisters

When it rains the ceilings run, 

and ducts and pipes channel fountains, 

and cascades from broken skylights fall 

to pools, and tin roofs thunder.