A walk like running
my mind through
what would be
the persistence of vision. Needling
my own veins, I open up one day
into everything and everything begins
to look the same. Nothing looks the same
as it did before I was aware of colors
and before they began to run down
the sewer drains. Into my grid
of tunnels they flow invisibly familiar
below the surface. These trees were
put here by someone else anyway.
They did not grow naturally where they are now standing.
Yet, they do grow and they are still alive.
Shedding their foliage they are reborn each Spring
Not to say anything of the sidewalks slicing through the green
That sit just as naturally as the trees.