Arrival

Here is too swift a movement, The rest is too still.

It is a red sea Licking The housefronts.

They quiver gently From base to summit. Ripples of impulse run through them, Flattering resistance.

Soon they will fall; Already smoke yearns upward. Clouds of dust, Crash of collapsing cubes.

I prefer deeper patience, Monotony of stalled beasts. O angle-builders, Vainly have you prolonged your effort, For I descend amid you, Past rungs and slopes of curving slippery steel.