77.

Girders and glass roofs extend at round

And sharp angles; some on the bottle glass

Broken in Newark Penn Station: some trains

Sit idle on Sunday. The World Trade Center

Peers through a waste of elevated highways,

Poles, wires, warehouses — airplanes lift

And land. Here it is hard to talk of love.

Chivalry gets lost in the graffiti.

Multi-storey parking garages stack up

Like stanzas. Smokestacks from refineries

Question the motives of poetry. To speak

Of your eyes in the twine of hydro lines

Is heroism or futility.

In this toxic trench will we live to love?