Look left

Sometimes there are tiny flowers that grow out of walls in the city.

I want to talk about that.

Small beings hatch out of that which is meant to crush them

I see the green, purple, blue.

There.

Just beyond my ken

This is also a current event.

This shimmer. This moment. This second.

Others will carry the necessary and didactic discussions.

Must we all?

Is it dangerous to search the skies, the pavement for resolution?

Is not revolution, going where you are not told to go,

looking away from where told to look?

There are flowers growing out of the walls.

Someone must write them.

Cock your ear.

Turn your head.

Look left.