We sit beside the river listening
intently to the overflowing water
sluicing down the spillway
hardly visible through tangled undergrowth,
of barren wild grapevine, and unseen
Linaria vulgaris that flourishes in these margins.
Common milkweed blooms, its leaves
food for Danaus plexippus that makes her way to Mexico,
And I wish I were like the honeymooners
on this morning’s plane, ticketed to Cancun
headed in naïve surety to relaxed
warmth and sensual delights.
This urban paradise, bordered at the heart
by pocket parks, riverine vistas and sheltering trees
brings to me an esteemed landscape architect’s words,
“Humans are most comfortable with prospect and refuge.”
From our vantage, lulled as wild rabbits
that munch grass on the bank and sleep
in a fur-lined burrow, we view a prospect
falsely offering refuge amid chaos.
Reaching out, our hands meet atop green oilcloth.
You pull back in pain, an injury of overuse
you claim, as the lights sway above our heads,
beat time to no one in particular.
Now, the yellow garden spider records
everything in the zig-zag vectors of her web.
She draws it all closer, weaves
the inevitable in the night.