Violent patches, forgotten space
where green is crushed,
where green shudders to mud,
where green becomes tarmac
for fear of possible roots
for fear of small rebellions
of cracks and fear of life
bursting uncontrolled
spiralling towards the distant sky.
Vigilant now are the foresters,
their blades honed sharp by dread.
Concrete churns interrupting each
fluorescent sulphur night.
A continual fire will still leave shoots
alive by chance. In the ashes,
something is shivering in the breeze
-vital, forgotten, new.
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