05 21 18
I try to imagine what existed before.
Trees, perhaps, with their talking network of roots,
Giving names to the yellow flowers
And shelter to the frogs roused by the rain.
I imagine lush moss on branches
And leaves like instruments in the wind.
I imagine dragonflies
And, in the late afternoon, lighted bugs birthing new stars.
I imagine that even the dead lizards curl their bodies
Back into all that living.
All that living
In what is now a lot, vacant.
Our one sun wasted on asphalt.