Church bells are tolling at seven.
I turn to see the cathedral,
The contours of its roof even,
The color blue and ethereal.
When the clock reaches eleven,
Vehicles will be in a stall.
Thin sprinklers that won't stop sprinkling,
Creating pools in even grass.
Golden shine from a sun sinking.
Students resting after their class,
On top of the thick walls, sitting,
Reflecting on the day that was.
Or the bright future that will be.
Through many lanes, cars move freely
Like the sounds of ships at New Year.
Under the blanket of the night,
When the ten-wheelers are parking.
I watch torch flames go out of sight.
When the printing press is printing,
The cathedral looms in moonlight,
And the journalists are hunting.
