we just walked over to the wooded island, to the destruction that was wooded island, 
and as long as you don't think about what it was or could be or could have been, it will still create a sadness in your heartwood that yearns for some little parcel, even man-made, that could be left alone, and let grow. 
the place recalls a graveyard of human nature more than a nature sanctuary. the death lotus presides. this dusk it was fragrant with the smokey musk of some ceremonial herb familiar to many human seekers of sanctuary in this fractured city. 
we searched in the erosion for more turtle parts and found some, 
though i don't think we'll ever put our dead turtle back together again.  
we have a crepuscular feeling now. we step off the concrete path 
by the death lotus to allow a black security suv to pass. 
by the time our circle is complete we pass ourselves, from anger to sorrow, and we'll be back again.