Eden Park

this is not the woods
and wildlife is not
two chipmunks scampering
across the sidewalk

the trees stand here
in landscaped disorder
shrugging leaves with
seasoned indifference

approximating nature
I tell myself as birds
the real ones not
pigeons or sparrows
dart between branches

yet even the grass
seems untame somehow
and the ground itself
alive with uncertainty

as I stand for a moment
on this hill displaced
from concrete from glass
their inert familiarity

one life jumbled among many
I’m not alone I realize
yearning to belong in such
manufactured wilderness

while gently from below
come muffled growls
automobile grizzlies
lumbering along their
winding asphalt trails

—Harry Newman