Tall and plural and parallel,
their buff, excited skins
of glass pressed to glass and steel
bronzed by the falling sun,
the city's figmentary buildings dream
that they are one with the One.
Ignoring the office workers
trapped inside their neural nets,
they orient their ecstasy
up past the circling jumbo jets.
Older than the rocks is she
across whom their shadows float.
A million rivers navigate
the necklace at her throat.
The light that falls and falls
shatters in her million prisms.
In one of her million cubicles,
a man tunes his inner mechanisms,
types an endless memorandum.
Time moves slowly, then not at all.
A boy and two girls are
trading secrets down the hall.
--Vijay Seshadri
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