He counts the copper in the tray
The iron rails have gone away
He smells the damp of ancient loam
Where urban weeds have found a home
Digging deep in the city clay
Waiting for the light of day
Sifting through the heavy sand
Holding winter in his hand
He knows the name of every root
The wild ivy and the pale shoot
Like Monstera in a concrete shell
He guards the dark and dampy well
Digging deep in the city clay
Waiting for the light of day
Sifting through the heavy sand
Holding winter in his hand
The last train left an hour ago
He watches how the fungus grow
A steady pulse in limestone gray
Where tired workers used to stray
Digging deep in the city clay
Waiting for the light of day
Sifting through the heavy sand
Holding winter in his hand
He hums a tune to make them bloom
Inside the subway's hollow room
The salt and grit provide the seed
A secret garden for his need
Digging deep in the city clay
Waiting for the light of day
Sifting through the heavy sand
Holding winter in his hand
Sifting through the sand.
Silver coin soil.
