It was the spiraling streets
that taught me to wonder.
The books spoke so elegantly
of waterfalls, forests, and standing stones.
But where were the odes
to ash, concrete, and glass?
Where is my magic found
if not in the crossroads of bus routes
libraries, sanctuaries,
hidden shops with secret charms
the chatter of people.
Like a strange symphony
whose myths are modern
whose magic is city bred.
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I'm feeling pretty sleepy today so no reflection on this poem right now but I hope you're having a wonderful day!
