At the corner of First and Second Avenues
Its roots bound by asphalt and cementitious material
Trampled by shoes of locals and tourists looking for something
Or nothing at all
Trucks reverberate in its core; motion a constant
The graffiti covered trunk nonetheless grows upwards toward the light of the sun and the fluorescence that never ceases
The beat of the city constant as a heart’s
Its survival unlikely and surprising
Such chaos, no order, noise and sound buzzes ceaselessly downtown in Manhattan
A car slams on the brakes at the stoplight parallel, not a moment too soon, others too late
No surprise to the tree that lives in the Bowery
