Across the bridge the city looms, a prospect:
your car's a secret, you behind a desk,
evading the sliding walls of silhouettes
of stony precipices with compound views.
The pacing buildings, like the orderly crowds
with lesser stride, move twinkle-toed and taut,
past time in sun and rain, staking the future
as does financier or stockbroker.
The buildings broadly convene, stony-faced
in stony silence, a magnificent
obsession with the curving present;
from heights of confidence a statement make,
each structure its unerring turn to take,
uninterrupted, the policy of men.