Invasion

Firm is the sandpaper stone beneath me

unlike

the earth.

Structure
surrounds in
rigid lines made of hard
metals and shiny,
frozen panes of

glass

reflecting

the twigs of the trees

that dot the sidewalk.

They are

so different

from the winding timber types

that reach up to grasp a sky

unpolluted.

Structure

surrounds me –

admitting

no winding creek,

            no crawling moss,

                        no scattered rock.

The buildings plummet up,

                        jutting

into that carbon sky.

The crowd and the bustle and the shine of it all

invade me,

disturb me.

While a hundred miles away,

the songbirds sing their

     freedom canticles

and fluttering, fluttering,

     perch on a twig stretched for heaven –

so gentle, not one leaf

     is dislodged from the bark.