Seed of Memory

Among asphalt cracks, the seed breathes life.
The deserted street retains the first sprout of memory.
Vanished voices return like tiny lights in the dust.
Every stone guards a date, a small moon.
Thin roots seek the water of past rain.
Time stumbles, and memory reflects in a puddle.
The seed blooms with episodes, lost laughter, names found.
We walk on, and the street lights up; it is no longer deserted.