gray ghost clouds with vapor tails.
Sideways lights blink thoughtfully.
The strong and humble oak will stand,
tendrils firm, entrenched for decades
in the soil of our ashes.
Flies the black bird, chasing the hawk
through windmills in the sky.
A curtain of liquid blue blinds the seeds,
silence the beak.
Ebony rivers of melted plastic
course through the trees like tar in my veins.
Maybe the leaking sky will spare us all.
The rain would be so beautiful here, above the wind
A corporate highrise with a view of nature
Contradictory skylines clashing in a cloud of smog
