These skyscrapers are monuments
built by God. See how the moon is
shining tonight, how she is a perfect
circle as minuscule as a pupil. But I’d like
to pretend that she dilates, waxes,
herself to become a halo for these
monuments that were created like ziggurats
to reach God. Because, all the while, they’re
really

as holy and immaculate as the night
sky above them washed by the river
of luminescent car headlights flooding
the streets and dead stars flowering
above

like Jesus once stood naked
on a river to be

purified.