Ethereal plantings
Like skyward pipes against the brick,
Like clouds of copper canopy,
Stories and stories above.
Engineered purity
Like praying imprisoned vanilla pods,
Like sylvan statues of subtlety,
To heal a world cemented and stern.
It makes me think of steam and synth,
Of the sticky sauce
That tars, mars my tofu.
Of the plumes, the fumes
Of burning worlds
That work so hard to build
To fill their emptiness.
And though I know
That these wounds
Are Creation,
I dream in this night that
Ambient souls
Will heal the whole
With their warmth
And intimation.
That lights too bright
Might be tamed,
Might be softened,
For the ethereal plantings
Of a world near forgotten.