I Touch the Gound

Night draws down
To silver lines
Gasping on the horizon.
With eerie stillness
The city cries
Ignorant but for it’s thirst
For blood, for life.
For I, there is nothing
But the beauty I worship
In the dawn
In the silver twist 
Of a seagull’s wing
In the evening cloud
Rushing east and to the sea
In the wind stealing
Through door cracks
And shuddering across roofs
Thundering past great holes
Made of edifices and towers
Made of man’s efforts
To be remembered 
As more than a wisp 
Across time.
I am here.
And I touch the ground.