People are capable.
Marigolds become brittle.
What was worn is new.
Fire escapes rain down
Particles of soil seeping
through the drainage
Holes of a city garden.
It is in the rust
That change comes
And in the taut drum
Sound.

Golden polish buffed
With an old t-shirt
And ignored by children
Looking at clouds.
Crosswalks and jaywalks
Keep cars in check.
The irises are long gone,
But windows show them
Printed on shirts,
Pillowcases, ties.
Streets grided into
Obscurity so that
Neighbors can’t be found.

Dwelling on a century,
Water towers and
Freon coolant returned from
A marketing campaign
That left no one alive.
To construct windows
More concrete is needed.
It is up to the birds now
To spread seed and harvest.