"I will die as many times
as you make me over again,
says the city to the people,
"I am the woman, the home, the family,
I get breakfast and pay the rent;
I telephone the doctor, the milkman, the undertaker;
I fix the streets
for your first and your last ride—
"Come clean with me, come clean or dirty,
I am stone and steel of your sleeping numbers;
I remember all you forget.
I will die as many times
as you make me over again."
Under the foundations,
Over the roofs.
The bevels and the blue prints talk it over.
The wind of the lake shore waits and wanders.
The heave of the shore wind hunches the sand piles.
The winkers of the morning stars count out cities
And forget the numbers.
7
At the white clock-tower
lighted in night purples
over the boulevard link bridge
only the blind get by without acknowledgments.
