Of Metropolitan and River Street in an Amber Light

The tumbling black plastic deli bag,
a sad companion amid the twinkling
amber mercury lights, the cracked
pavement stones, rugged grass,
twirling barbed wire, all the signs
against me shouting silently,
“Dead End”, “End”, “Dead End”.

I take solace in the weeds,
the flora flowing, bursting from
the cracks, the ragged seams of
this concrete flower, this mute
layer of clay.

If so, the scorched earth goes,
what’s nature grows up from
asunder yet again, and quietly,
gracefully,

beyond our total ungraceful control.