WTC

Its hard to make believe I'm really there at all while automatic doors chomp rubber gums and I think of the streets and the wires and the tubes full of bile above, and just for an instant the iron beams and lofted welders held up to the sky: an offering; the crowds of coveralled laborers clam morning at the crosswalk and the sun still hid by earth and earth lit by reflected light sponged up by clouds, unearthly as believing in towers built and then tumbled.