Breadcrumb #409


After we learned the hard way
to quieten ourselves upon the earth
the Meadowlands became at last a meadow.

Vines claimed the stadium,
a shaggy beast stooping to graze on
volunteer trees—honey locust,
white birch, profligate maple.  

Decades after the storage tanks burst,
poisons dispersed and absorbed long since,
it is only the trees and the long sifting grass,
leaking their colors at dusk.

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