GAIA ELLEN WEISE

Sun,
low on the horizon, tucked in by the
technicolor vapours of twilight
The sky is infinite here, and blue, it overwhelms the streets
and homes beneath it

steel tracks still baked from the noontime desert heat
reveal frolicking lizards basking in the
remnants of daylight

as weeds grow sinewy and touch, the thorny distant cousins
of flora from a more delicate time
push up tenacious yellow blossoms
that seem more brave than beautiful
born into a life of sanctifying muck
and the red-rusted iron of dilapidation

Pastel pink and bleak white
of faded old cigarette cartons
the glitter of broken beer bottles
strewn about, become just another part
of nature
reabsorbed, forgotten
it grows darker
this place more wild still
more dangerous at night
i should go home