zealously verdant
parks and private gardens—
which, heretofore, were rich
with their fulminating
yellows, greens, and oranges—
have finally
lost purchase
on every last leaf
and been stripped
without notice
of each pleasing flower.
What a bittersweet,
almost punitive
relief
to see their great
tiaras start to slip
and fall to rust—
to watch lush fields crumple,
and wither, and dim—
to finally begin
to look as stricken
as the rest of us.
