I look at men in the height of their youth
Building towers that will scrape the heavens,
And I know—as do you—that their towers
Will crumble and fall into noiseless dust.
I look as men in the height of their youth
Go running, running, towards or away,
Through voids and empty black stretches of tar
And I know—as do you—that they will die.
Look with me beyond the void of highways,
Look at a home, at a soft touch, at a
Memory passed to children, and you see—
As do I—that which alone reaches heaven.
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