Reflorescence

The eagle is a vulture now,

circling the neon rot of the strip,

where liberty is a coupon code

pressed between a thumb and a thirsty lip.

We traded the hearth for a hollow glow,

polishing mirrors until they were thin,

worshiping the god of the "Mine" and the "Now,"

wearing our ambitions like discarded skin.

The common ground is a parking lot

parking paid with the credit of a broken trust,

where every prayer is a private heist

and foundations' steel frames have turned to rust.

***

But, be ready we must, and promise never to forget; because...

***

It doesn’t arrive announced or blowing a horn,

but like rain's scent, cooling over-heated city streets.

a phantom weight of a child's heart held in our hands,

to a ghostly rhythm that moves the soles of our feet.

It's present in quiet kindness of a door being held,

a Discourse of a language we thought unlearned,

carrying accumulated dust from the miles it traveled,

heavy with the ashes of the bridges we've burned.

***

It feels out of place in the rubble of the torn-down,

the weak pulse of "me" grows stronger with "ours."

It fortifies the young marrow and replaces the old,

then lingers in the scent when vernescence flowers.

We recognize the shape, but the perspective has shifted;

the epidermis is scarred by swords we've laid athwart.

It returns not as it was, but as it must be;

a slow, steady haunting, of a hungry, hoping heart.