In this city I do not live

“In the biocommunity of the forest, not only the trees exchange messages, but also the bushes and the grass, maybe even all kinds of plants. However, when we set foot in a meadow, the plants become very silent. Our cultivated plants, precisely because of cultivation, have lost much of their ability to communicate underground or above ground. It’s kind of like they’ve lost their sense of hearing and their speech, and so they become easy prey for the insects.”
The Secret Life of Trees, Wohlleben Peter

I would like a waterfall to drop my fury vertically,
the water that breaks to lift the weight of our fall, and to exorcise our rage.

I would like an all-year-round river,
to reflect the moon, and the city, and trembling to shake the absolute of our thoughts.

I would like shade rich from broadleaf tree canopies,
to cool our forehead,
to rest from the relentless light, to guard our secrets.

I would like couples to kiss in the middle of the boulevards
plotting with their innocent bodies new paths of love and struggle.

I would like groups of friends to set up parties in squares on Sundays at noon,
and to hear them speak, to sing, to broaden the mind, to change the world, and this city within.