by Fernando Nunes
We used to go to the creek
To bathe and fully awaken.
By July, it is nearly dry
A puddle of green waste.
Then, the wildlife leave
Seeking a drop to drink
And a scrap of food to eat
Persisting—as cars pass
Structures lean into trees—
Disrupting Nature’s cycle
Cement paths scar the land.
Biking away, and arriving
Familiar sights shifting
Days and nights combine
Walking home by the light
To faces that I’ve forgotten.