Urban Equinox

From a perch atop the trees

the symphony unfolds

The march of the dying solar lamps

their chromium splendor tarnished

they tumble askew, mostly dead

One glows dim

One pulses in time

a dying heartbeat

to loosened tailpipes

scraping the brick alleyway

salt encrusted springs groan

with the concussion of every pothole

The earth is dead

carpeted in thatch that will not

waken anew

Yet patches of fresh green tendrils

spring like acne upon her face

Life ever awakens from her sleep

to take back what is hers

No matter how vain the effort

A tree defiled

May still bloom