A pettled being wrapped in a prefab condo building,
Struggling to push up through the crust
Sunlight feeling so far above
Richness of lightless abode of soil
Rotten decaying regenerating sustenance.
The pool exhibited by the laundry room accompany this venue for my alchemy,
Without historic churches or market places, tradition is only left inside.
The land wiped clear cut off from the humans here before
Thrown together like a cargo cult,
Is this sprawling parking lot my rose garden?
Here I found my flower, calling me to devotion as my Goddess
Here where they killed all pagans
and built strip-malls over ritual spirit lands.
We can still grow here
together.
The rotation of places help reveal the only things I can take with me.
If she can bud in such grey senseless plastic
what blooms await elsewhere.