The City as a Forest

The City as a Forest The concrete roots run deep beneath the square, a canopy of wires, thin and bare. The traffic lights, red-yellow-green that bloom, are strange, quick flowers in the engine's gloom. A pigeon nests where gargoyles used to weep; the city's wildness never truly sleeps. The steel skyscraper, reaching for the sun, is just a tree whose growing's never done.