Scaling higher, you look out
at the green hills beyond Babylon.
THE ARBOR
Next to the grey tower for all mankind
There sits a green mountain for its children
No less touched by gardeners' hands
But with goals far removed from ours:
We erect a monument to ourselves
Lifting ourselves toward the abodes of the gods,
Yet they have the understanding
That the habitation of divinity
Is in ice-carved granite and high trees
Made of ageless stones and unseen colors
Scented with damp earth and lilacs.
On the tower we labor
For the appearance of righteousness,
For the honor of the wealthy
Seeking affirmations in bared sand.
On the mountain they know
They cannot usurp the divine,
They cannot build a better mountain,
Only a window of rolling green glass
Where we each might catch a glimpse of god.