at the edges of the park
on the faces in the crosswalk
on the empty balconies and the
colonies you find
through the stormdrains

those newly rooted
remain tense

city park rangers
stroll, sweeping napkins
into scoopers

there are many ways the dank earth could come between us

we are fast, but short sighted
the bubbling soil is slow, but
will outlive us

how we affect each other’s scales
is left to minds with
eyes of light reservoirs

the beautiful,
that which lets us know it,
is not a beacon
or a broadcast

it’s a lighthouse
a target

as the day grows
the resonance of the signal swells
and all orphans
waver and shimmer in the glare

snaking, alive, the branches
splay and twist
cheering in the breeze thirty feet up

all i am able to see
is the motion stimulating,
powering off the curved glass,
dancing,
my heart beat rises