Everything’s Happening In Parking Lots

At the edge of this parking lot I know
where the black asphalt meets the beige concrete
there are little sprouts of green where plants grow
between the two building materials.

In one spot I know about puddles form
and cracks in the asphalt carry water
to plants pushing up from the ground below.

Yellow lines of paint direct parking cars
into ordered slots. Cracks in the asphalt
direct rain water from puddles to plants.

Everything’s happening in parking lots—
everything is going from place to place—
and at night when the stars turn overhead
the parking lots shine back at outer space.

But right now there’s a beautiful, gentle
yellow flower leaning against a rock
and the tiny yellow blossom is bright
so bright above the simple gray boulder
the flower looks like a star out in space
and the stone looks like a rocky planet
illuminated by the golden glow,
a star and planet, a solar system,
and whether galaxies explode, collapse
or crumble between the fingers of God,
right now there is a beautiful, gentle
yellow flower leaning against a rock
and right now that passing scene is enough
to push away the universe itself
as the stupid fucking good for nothing
cosmos tries to die its entropic death.
The wildflower and the boulder just laugh
and say, “No. Not right now. Come back later.”

To Push Away The Universe Itself