i’m a fire on a birch tree
mourning after knowing
porous nature of growth

i look down, what can’t be stopped
watching what can’t be stopped

everything rooted
but eventually freed

a sheet of humid air lies
confused between currents

a sunshower falls
over the patient occupants of the park benches

and the hill leads to the river

shouts from around the corner,
dogs barking,
sunlight stirring

the tarps are out
and even secured
they flutter
in the stiff breeze
and clap their pallets

concerned?

the pressure grows
the warning lights come through the cracks
but well prepared, we stay composed

we transfer its woes
through pipes and through smokestacks
from tunnels below

but it’s all for show
for though the trees still shade our backs
for now, the system’s closed

the roads that bookend neighborhoods
bracket working hours too;
the maps they make of an hour’s stroll
fly over my head in my dreams

i, fancy primate,
with my new phone
burning a hole in my pocket
killing bylines
am buzzing with greed
and any social media will bury the lede
but the accompanied eye will see