the cathedral
soft spires
of viridian, a ceiling of stained glass
emerald
in the sunlight.
russet branches shoot up from
a tower of burnt umber,
behold –
the curled roots that
dive deep
into broken asphalt and
puddled rain.
before
when was the last time you played with mud?
adults might warn you
against its grotesque silhouettes, but
it used to be
an extension of
home
or the last time you saw
not another faded tree line, but
a grove of red maples?
A friendly sycamore,
mailing its last broad leaf
to the wind?
when was the last time you noticed the grass?