O parking lake and gutter shore, reflect
For me the streetlamp trees where concrete paves,
And night-life glitter, won't you recollect
What dusts the heavens and sparkles on the waves?

O neon crescent, glowing white, enthrall
Me with the wonder of a nascent moon,
And anxious car, impatient horn, recall
For me the mystic wail of a distant loon.

O saw-dust shake and fast-food fries, please stroke
My tongue like berries tickled from their leaves,
And traffic chorus, random chords, evoke
The crickets' medley, patchwork in the breeze.

O high-tech jungle, fruit of Darwin's law,
Your subtle beauty yet evades my awe.

© Douglas Allchin, in the wake of Squaw Cove, 1984