only the trees remember now
when these asphalt arteries were clogged
with metal and rubber and honking horns,
back when the shouting beasts
believed the fossils of the dead
were theirs to burn.
only the trees remember the storms,
when winter slipped away
and water raged onto the roadways.
whimpering, the shouting beasts
ran to higher ground, praying it would save them.
their echoes remain
in concrete and steel,
bones and bricks
and plastic and glass.
they decay over decades
as the rain keeps falling
and swamps and grasses and forests
reclaim their rightful crown.
only the trees remember
how they almost lost the earth.