Mind Metropolis 

While birds build nests, we write alphabets of their trees.
In skyscrapers, the steel beams, like massive twigs,
envelop and protect us in a vocabulary of shelter, place.
The hills and valleys of the metropolis create shadow,
refract the warm light like gleaming mountain lakes.

Dichotomous childhood tales of urban and rural rodents
highlight only distinctions, but I have seen sunrise-painted skies
evoke magic in the mountains and from urban balconies.
We can be lost, found, saved or forgotten everywhere we go.

Can you recall the exact tones and tunes of traffic or ocean waves,
a moment’s particular echoes and silhouettes at dusk, secrets felt
in alleys and neural paths – scents of coconut lime treats.

I have heard roosters crow in mountainous Monteverde and
in a Saigon hotel room, high up above the bustling streets.
And in half-sleep notice the newborn sunlight on my morning sheets.
All our places leave inner souvenirs – traces of coastal saltwater in our genes.

Some boroughs and bogs we can only visit again in our heads.
But a known quality of radiance can peek through in unexpected ways,
a minds-eye homecoming to a specific street, a morning in a drafty kitchen.
All those particles of ash and smog, smells of wet soil and peat
form a now of then, the cyclical motions of wash, rinse and repeat.