Friday, September 9, 2011

On that Day . . .

The towers, a matched set, an invincible imprint set against an Atlantic horizon,
Immovable steel hemmed in by city planning.
Streets, vendors, subway lines, muggers, offices, traffic lights, and schools,
Bipeds, quadrapeds, and no-peds.

Planes like arrows fly and pierce—
Flames like wicked wings, beat the air, and then they fall—
One by one, two with hands linked.

Silent must have been the fall, inferno above and beyond an innocent blue.

And then they fall—
Beam and cross beam, office memo, plate glass searing bone and flesh and wood and air and flesh and bone and bone and flesh . . .

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