The great steel knell of the building always being built
& the smooth expanse of silk that opens up between the river’s currents
& the white nicks of gulls clipping the spots where new leaves spring &
the trains clicking in their rails while a few people stray down
from the corner church, light skimming their clothes and the sky beyond
slips & slips past them.
All this is being alive in the world.
I cannot tell you how hard it is some days.
And now, to the furthest pylon I can see, a red barge is being tethered
with a long, damp coil of rope.