They say the city has no landscape
No life
Nothing but concrete
Nothing but steel

They say that
Without ever looking
At the city
In the night

Feral cats
Squirming bugs
And although the trees are small
They loom over small unlit paths

Lonely dogs
Flying moths
And although the buildings are imposing
They too are part of it all

They're our homes
And the homes of rodents
Pigeons
And even more squirming bugs

The city's not dead
But we are