Some mornings, downtown looks
more distant
and half-missing—
not much to see
but two or three obelisks
which loom
in the haze like
somber monuments
created in the oblique
likeness of their
long-extinct builders:
a race of giant
men and women
whose every grand achievement
was quickened
by its lack
and who must have been
wiped off the face
of this planet
by the sickness
of their own ambition
or perhaps
its terrible cure—an obsession
with rest.
