New York City

A living city buried Elysian fields
under heaps of ash and
clouds of billowing steam.

Ever since that restless century
of cut-throat civilization,

more men and their machines
have thundered and spouted
ashes into the sky.

From the top of the mountain,
you can still see signs of fire,
but not the people.

Like cinders crushed by the wind,
their stiff ashes rise
out of sight.

A/N: A heavily-edited "found" poem. June 21, 2010.