LOST NOTHING
One blue door and a sputtering drunk passing by;
one window opened to something. The dead-gauge
of an old railway opened still; its ancient tracks on
the cut-away street. One hundred years and more
of subway cars and cuttings. Dreaming, just like that.
-
Before there was electric, there was steam; and it seemed
to power everything : those gigantic old printing presses
far below ground; the clock tower's high rise, those
startling elevators, when all that was new. I want to
go on, but something stills here my hand. The
force of the force of the time. We are here.
-
Some wicked Moravian jungle, some girl's
crie de couer, echoing a heart-warming moment
or something undeserved : lilac leaves in wilt, the
new burst of an azalea threading. Each of these
are now, are today. That old drudge of steam
drive - and nonetheless - it still moves on.
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