Science explains everything.
We are so poor that we are woven in grass.
The highways forget to return us home.
There is no mystery anymore.
Our wonder is alone and trapped.
Love recognizes us like that.
A victory ode comes smashing around.
We are heroes in our own hometown.
Our tradition of hope; a win for the heart,
Graffiti on steel; busted, broken, flat.
We sing ourselves apart.

Amy Cunningham 2017