Where are the trees, my dear friends,
our glowing cities all veiled with fog afire
The sun has left his twin below him,
in the water of the bay, melting steel bridges in our dreams
Smoke, spice, and silence have crept in here
tea and dry old novels full stories
Child prods the sleeping bear, vision wobbles in the heat
myths full of glories
Thrumming rhythm we soon shall feel,
chasing our hearts on giant, tumbling wheels
Little wingèd beings flying high and bold
Remind me that the world is made of stuff old and strong
Enough to bear the weight of this desperate throng.