Yet Laced

From an overpass
On a high linear track
I peered through gray train glass
Uncharted homes,
Stack of tin, trick of twine;
Uncounted people counting on the owner
Not bulldozing the land that day.
Over the backside of the hill
Small white flowers lay
Front yard of the underpass
Sprawled through wispy grass
Spilling down the black muddy bank
Into the littered bay
And culminating in a mass of silt and grime:
the black from the train
And the stray pollutant strained lime
Grain of trash bedded down
In the lifeless waterway
Yet laced with small white flowers

One thought on “Yet Laced

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