on seeing a plant in a parking lot
Not mine, this black plane
That men have made
Like a grave, to prevent all life that lies below
So that above, unliving things may sit and be unliving
A flawless barrenness, no sooner made
Then a plant, so thin a child may pluck her
Pushed aside it's share of rocky black
Ruining with life man's perfected order
Thus fall all glory-cities with their wealth
By one shoot with life in itself
For the sworded guards of mighty Rome
Couldn't keep in place a single stone