lxxxiii

from hill-top to hill-top
calling,

echoing over the valley,

someday, someone will build
a city,

on the thin waves
of hunger, recognized

recognition, returned,
not yet,

redoubled, someday, the
net of desire, calling

desire--re-oriented and
re-ordered, redoubled will

rise--and reach, as it is
falling to the ears,
of us

below--will build a city of
desire broken upon

answering desire broken,
and redoubled,

and rising, the shuddering
remnants rising, sundered

reaching, such

a city built upon the empty remnants
of desire will sear the sky

irresistible, unanswerable--always
answering, unanswering, too fast

to fall, always falling--fragments
rising to fill the sky, breaking


rising to unbreakable, will
criss-cross to the sky

lxxviii.

in the shadows beneath the ring-road
he says: "we could pray together."

I say no: and I walk on--the people on
the verge watch the old man

twitch, he's foaming blood and spit
from his mouth, and I yell up at them,
garbled:

"Has anyone called the doctor, why don't
you help me?"

"What can we do?"

I kneel on the cobbled towpath, and I tell
him that it's alright, that someone is here
that help is coming

(is it?)

two policemen come, and a pharmacist,
they look over the wall, baffled:

"What is the shortest way down?"

(down the slope, through the dead grass)

"Go right, and come down the stairs."

(come down the slope)

when the younger man comes along, fat
with success, I say:

"You help me. Can you help me?"

"I speak English. I am a Christian."

Then: Christian, loosen his belt, and
check to see if he is taking any medications,

"Is anyone coming?"

"Two police and pharmacist, they are coming
from the right..."

"The shortest way is left..."

(Yes. I know that, when I think about it, but
what can you do?)

"Loosen his belt, ask him if he is taking any medications
we must--raise his head so he doesn't choke...

...he may have broken his neck, he fell down the verge,
there's blood on the edge of wall. Careful."

the people lean over the wall, watching, I say: "Listen:
I'm here, someone is here, help is coming...

...wait, wait just a little, wait and live, wait
and I am here

someone is here, so wait a little, just
a little longer, wait."

he says, "maybe we should pray."

the old man gurgles, chokes,
drools, twitching

"No."

"But, maybe we should pray."

"No. He probably isn't a Christian, don't pray over him
for a god that isn't his, we should just be here.

the wind whisks chill, over the stones.

Let him know that someone's here."

I put my hand next to the old man's, flat on the cobbles, who
knows if he wants to touch me--he might not,

it must be strange, to be stuck herewith me crouching over him

feet pounding on the cobbles, two policemen gasping, a
pharmacist rushing,

(there's no emergency services here, there's whoever you
can get from the shop, from the street)

hands waving, I rise, and start walking,

(I don't want trouble--I don't stay
for questions)

I rise, and start walking, under the overpass,

the young man rushes after me,

"...maybe we should pray?"

"Hope for the best--we've done what we can. Why pray."

"It might make us feel better."

"We've done what we can, why pray now? There's nothing
more to be done, so why pray?"

--the sun hits bright, past the shadows under the bridge, I
don't look back,

I rise onto the street