By George

A shiver of a tree,
Moss bursting at the seams,
Twigs of a bird’s foot
Crunch down on a thousand years,
Uproot the worms
And feed them to tomorrow’s beaks.

Fish hold their breath beneath the mirrored sky,
While twigs wonder how they strayed so far from home,
Drenched and decomposing in public graves.
Frogs’ eyes litter the surface – stars on water.
Lilypads stretch out their arms to cup the sun’s gold.

A girl breathes it in: “fresh air,”
She whispers as a million microorganisms inhabit her ribs.

In London, buildings dance and puddles fill with rage
Under the blind boots of passersby.
Men and women and dogs
Stamp on their heads and
Spill clouds into the gutter.

Plants weave through pavements and people,
Dodging the rhythm of restless feet.
An ivy tendril emerges from the pack,
Scaling away from the mechanical whirrings
And biological pretensions.

Four years blur by, and
The first leaf unfurls above the wall,
Its green head defiant against the grey
Smog of a suffocated city.

Sunset spills orange flames across the scene:
“A garden”