Tower

There was an unexpected wind,
a low whistle through the tower where we stood
overlooking downtown among used rubbers,
the bitter glass of beer bottles...
& there were the dirty needles
that give Worcester some metropolitan flavor.

You told me stories of this place,
& I was incredulous. A lone tower on a hill,
someone's dream materialized
in the oddest contrapostal of place & time.
It was the kind of place
you day-dream of afternoons at work;
the kind of place that other people become obsessed with;
the kind of place that one person builds,
and we only visit after they die.



Fl–x   [BL/´DE] '94