A gilt and
rusted nest of steel,
stone and brick
and concrete,
haunted by its
own electric soul,
awaits the
tangled light of early spring.
Throughout the
restless night,
heavy boats have
cut across the bay
leaving scars
upon its cold
and gray and
gleaming skin.
But every sin
committed
on the landscape
by this city
suddenly appears
to be forgiven
with the rising
of the sun.
“Live
again, and work.”
A million clocks
have sprung.
The ragged
threads of countless dreams
that clung to
countless minds
are brushed
away.
In unison they
rise,
they wash,
they work.
The moon alone
is left to take its subtle time,
to wander narrow
strips of sky,
to climb the
steel lattices and gaze away
across the
moving clamor of the day.
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