A new poem by Blaise Moritz

Across the Grid

Across the grid, ravines curl,
curl enough to seem improbably large
and disorient a straight line traveler.

I’ve felt terror down
by a trickle through dead leaves, down
in the shade of the high canopy
of hundreds of thin trunked weeds shooting for sun,
and following that curl, surprised
that the steps back up to the street
still aren’t in sight, I’ve despaired,
and imagined myself fantastically lost.

Terror: what have I known
but the city’s protection? The love
I have for nature is within
front and back yards, zoological gardens.
A little unsubdued scrub,
topographically inconvenient to pave,
is where I felt the menace
that first set us clearing and building.