Sanwa bank
building the temple of karnak
and the scent of a steam engine
and the halls of the faces
that came before me
and the pillars we placed there
the more you push it
the more it falls down
trapped in a musty room
till the process punch puts a hole
through the boards on all the windows
and the light comes streaming in
and it shines on the dust
who am I to know
from which direction
from where the help
I needed would
come thank you so much
for lifting the shroud off of me
so again I can see the grey
for what it is which is everything
the wind and an unselfconscious breast
the wait for history it's not up to me
it's time that decides terra-cotta fountains
all dried up leave it all again
to the roaches when our dirty
sidewalk becomes sheet rock
and history becomes geology.