She breathes in, hands loosely gripping her swing’s chain links, toes dragging patterns across rumpled sand, and exhales. Imaginary butterflies swirl through tangled hair, bright, vivid, technicolor wings beating staccato rhythms. Trees, forests, ancient forgotten giants, those ruined redwoods, sequoias, cherries, mahoganies, twist from cracked dirty concrete sidewalks, twining about our monumental skyscrapers, scratching glass windows, damaging steel supports, rising above them, begging for sunlight beneath an overhanging pollution bank. Water droplets tremble, hesitate, beaten down by gravity, too wary, frightened, terrified, before breaking free, rising into the sky, a shower of reverse motion. We tape everything on someone’s stolen camera, then, judged as worthless, abandon it at some local park. Somewhere, long ago, I danced with indistinct shadows underneath your darkening sky, dimly lit clouds threatening rain everybody now knows will never fall. You never realized that distant city skyline belonged to us, broken, empty, yet somehow still stunning, beautiful, complete. This is ours, always has been.