With no surface scratched, this Place seems gone
Only the cries of the turbulent Winds echo off buildings of dusty Brick and rusted metal
Cars, trucks and buses lie abandoned;
They could be garbage bins, or Treasure troves
Ivy claims its stake on bus Station wharfs and benches
To the untrained eye, all seems Lost

But the acts of the little-seen Beg to differ...

The little dandelions, from a Sidewalk crevice, shovel in sun:
Recharging, growing, reproducing,
Giving life
Rats scurry to and fro with food, Into little cracks
Their own community grows in the Empty bank
Dust balls make a slow trek down The cracked road
Spiders make intricate patterns,
The stuff of dreams
Like a hollow tunnel, the Emptiness speaks volumes about What this place once was...

The depth is revealed; the light Shines through, as a prism lying About, ever-waiting for the sun to Hit its rays at just the right Angle;
Ultimately, a fantastic rainbow Comes to be
Even without a pair of watchful Eyes around,
Hidden marvels of life abound.