Dissecting grass

I wait beneath a noise of pain,

I tend my roots. Skyscraper lawn

up there is turf, it skins alloys,

napalm soft. Break in allies!

The green is grim. The place is mulch.

The hazards groan. Today I flinch. 

I stand with blades of lignin lace,

I wash by shores of earthy lakes.

The seeds of yesteryear confess

upstream. Backyards of worldliness

grip crowns and leaves are limbs. They touch

my heart with chloroplasts. I blush. 

Stephen Paul Wren