Strangers In a City
I want to walk with you
on the hills of tomorrow
drag fingers like tines
in the dark dirt
prepared by centuries
of anticipation
nothing but a few shoots
of grass there
waiting perfectly
for growth, some
human attendance, some
ones to roll
and plant deeply
sending roots
to the aquifer.
I want the honey-sweet sun
to make your skin quartz
glimmering like a thousand mirrors
and every living thing,
every dewdrop-living microbe
and sharp-eyed circling hawk
and waving photosynthetic wand
to take notice--
Strangers from a city
are peaceful now,
love bound and harmonious
and mean everything to you,
are here
infinite one minute
and the gone the next
in combustion of what you created.
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