CONSTRUCTION

At the thick-misted East River dusk, dogwood buds overhead just opening,
five high-rises across the way in Long Island City, where there was once just one.

Old Megalopolis’ fresh crown,
uneven and thrust up.
Oh, his will is our will, to break
and unbreak, and never be done.

Just then, two birds trill back and forth among the dogwoods. Another construction
set up, debriefed and sent running, already making room for the next one.