The streets are dressed in clusters of greens
willow and bush warbler,
eternal and iron-tinged
gracing paths to secluded oases
tucked between concrete and steel,
to Japanese gardens of earthy seduction
curated romance with Nature’s beauty
in a courtship lasting millennia.

Where does beauty go
when I look away?
When the nightingale sings
and there’s no one to hear?
Are there still a thousand greens
with poetic names
and song to pierce my heart?

I grasp at the echoes,
faint and otherworldly,
that hide in the longing it leaves,
the intangible desire
for the unknown,
an unsung aria,
the scent of a flower
yet to be found.