After a hot bath I step out onto a balcony, naked
and watch steam rise off my body into the chilled night of darkness,
lit by the persevering moon
and industrial florescent bulbs across the street.
A few nights ago I walked past an ominously towering metal skeleton
of a building: only beams constructed so far.
(An advertisement assured me it would metamorphose
into a glossy series of living compartments
for people who have hundreds of thousands of dollars to spend.)
A bright circle of moon shone behind the steel bones
illuminating the wallless stair well which zig zagged up to nowhere,
reminding me of a hopeless, dystopian bell tower.
What would this vision have spurred
in the stomachs, minds and bodies of those who lived
when cathedrals governed and digital worlds were not yet born?
Is this brutalist, metallic tower a horrible figure or a magnificent one?
Were ancestors able to conjure an imagining of such a convoluted future?
The same moon continues to light our shadows,
regardless of the scenes on which it shines down.
I wonder what architectures, what futures and ideas
it will illuminate in 1,000 years,
when this capsule around "me" has returned
entirely
to steam.
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