Nature in a City

There's no Nature here.
How am I supposed to write a poem
when all I see is
Concrete
baking in the sun,
Rows of windows gleaming,
glittering like the scales of a fish
or a gravity-defying waterfall
reaching towards the sky?
Where is the grass,
the daffodils that mean
it's spring,
the streams full of water as clear
as the bayou here is cloudy?
The car drives past
rectangle lawns,
hedges trimmed to perfection in
shapes I can't even draw,
and I can't take a walk without feeling
watched
from all those windows--
the houses, the cars,
all too close for comfort.
Take the bike trail 
if you want to race
cars
on a wide sidewalk,
and grip the handlebars in fear
when a stroller approches
(you turn with feet to spare,
but it never feels any better),
and you turn around the bend,

and Wow, the park is beautiful.
A wide expanse of soft, bright green;
Teens throwing frisbees, and a bridge
over a stream off the bayou;
benches here are there,
huh, I don't see any litter;
happy dogs wiggling in excitement
as they lead their owners towards the dog park.

and What kind of trees are these?
Strange moss hanging down,
Dead leaves on the ground nearing spring
though not in fall?
Pink flowers grace the air with
a strange, sweet scent,
which dances on the hot summer breeze
and almost makes you forget the humidity.

I think I've finally found what I was looking for--
something full of life, a space for peace
in this alien place--
Perhaps it's not so strange here,
Perhaps something is still reaching out--
In all the man-made city-stuff,
perhaps some nature can be found.