.
Layers of cloud
Brush strokes, grey and white
Roll above the distant spires of the city
These buildings, touching the heavens
Must be the work of giants
Creatures who once walked the Earth
Who imagined great things
And whose ingenuity was marvelous
And now is lost
The men among these buildings now
Walk small, like ants in crevices
The clouds break now and light
Falls across the towers
Near and below, a workman walks to a construction trailer
He is wearing prison orange and has no hat
Beside there a plastic bag flutters
In the brittle branches of a tree
Still caught in winter.
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