I like to stroll in empty lots, full of weeds
thorns and broken glass.
More peaceful this way
than in some imagined future
when the land is sold off
to the highest bidder and filled
with fast food joints and markets selling
cheap goods made by foreign slaves
and cars frantically searching for the closest
parking space, and people scrambling
for the best deals for as much as they can get
not seeming very happy to get it.
Parents, dragging their kids along
like little sponges soaking up the
living waters of the great marketplace.

I consider all this, and rejoin the passing moment.
A man is walking his dog some distance away.
The dog sniffs, squats, and after,
they both walk away, leaving the **** behind.
I walk on through the tall weeds, swooshing,
catching seeds in the hairs on my legs, a sower.
And every shard of broken beer bottle reflects
Sun and sky, like jewels
in Indra’s net.