I like the cracks in the sidewalk
And the way the roots of the trees rise above those shifting rifts
form one single contour
to thousands of tracks less traveled
to reach the finalities of our existence
that history has seemingly made clear.
The empty holes in the streets,
the way in which they create obstacles for those who know them well
and for those who don’t.
Their mob mentality
to construct an array of eyes into the underground
make history stop in its tracks.
The seeds placed in the urban tundra.
The way their roots reach for something more
than this one entity
as we do when we move our legs,
to the music, to the place we need be,
away from such trees that mar our focal points
of what we seek ahead
that we did not learn from history.