to be in a place is to live what we survey and soak it all in
the flower is not showing off for us, it is trying to survive
waking to the sound of rain on the window feels like not waking at all
every morning the flower opens without fanfare or notice
as the sun rises the city sleeps, leaving me alone with the view
the small things we add may seem insignificant but we know they’re not
as we’re worn by time having lost the spring of youth we still try our best
unlike the spider we can see the beauty in rain caught in its web
the water droplet released in the fountain’s spray spent weeks in a pipe
it’s called the dog days of summer, when the shade tree is most inviting
uptown jack 