nature, human

Stacks of aging 
windows, concrete, 
grass glass and wiring, 
make the sky so narrow 
that I can’t tell streets
from tunnels. 
Less travelled cracks and 
alcoves are old, mossed warrens 
thick with leaves,
insects, and outcasts.

Between fissures in my island’s 
throttled grey surface, 
all life finds a way. 
From a blossom of vines
that catches my eye, 
to eruptions of green debris netting
that tower up, 
up, 
to block out my sky.