Sprouts
The green bleeds from beneath concrete,
it cracks and crinkles and it eats
away the pavement of the street—
full now with weeds.
Soft sprouts upshoot, then harden thorns;
in light of morn,
they thicken till a tangle's born.
Forlorn, this corner grows and blooms
and seeds and dies and grows anew
through many moons.
And when the first explorers come
reclaim, at last, their former home,
they'll find nothing but concrete crumbs
and unsown fruit.