I’m watching the lavender swaying gently in the breeze while all around the sounds of the city swirl; trams grinding the corners, traffic rumbling its stuttered path, and voices on the wind, laughing, shouting, a happy sort of late afternoon discordance.
We see the sky in segments now,
bordered by glass, concrete and steel,
a glimpse of clouds, a flash of sun.
We are out of time,
out of place.
The leaves are on the ground,
muddy brown and grey;
where was I when they were green?
Where will I go now, to listen
amongst the whispering branches?