I know the Latin name for green
The smallest leaf I have ever seen
I touch the loam and I feel the heat
While city rhythms pulse on the street
Beside the wash and the spinning drum
The heavy clouds make the pavement hum
A rusted can in the alley mud
Waiting for water to wake the bud
Slow oxidation turns the red
A tired spirit in a metal bed
Drink from the storm till the rust is gone
Hold to the hope till the early dawn
I tend the ferns and the mossy wall
I watch the droplets of silver fall
The zinc is peeling in jagged lines
While the wild ivy carefully entwines
Slow oxidation turns the red
A tired spirit in a metal bed
Drink from the storm till the rust is gone
Hold to the hope till the early dawn
The water seeps through the porous clay
Washing the grime of the city away
Iron and oxygen lock in a dance
Giving the garden a second chance
The laundry steam meets the winter chill
The world is noisy but I am still
I plant a seed in a cracked concrete
Where the gray sidewalk and clover meet
I see the orange bleed into brown
The loneliest object in this whole town
But water flows to the thirsty root
Bearing the promise of summer fruit
Slow oxidation turns the red
A tired spirit in a metal bed
Drink from the storm till the rust is gone
Hold to the hope till the early dawn
Wait for the rain
Oxidized iron
Wait for the rain
