Poem From the John Hancock Tower, 1am

She said, ‘I’m just all about texture.’
We’re reading minds dozens of metres above
the illuminated earth.
Thank you for carpet, engraved with the blood, sweat, and tears of
the brains of hundreds of dead artists.
Why strive for the heavens, oh Babel?
Why not be content on the sand?
I rested there all summer as
my body healed itself.
Humans never found love in the heavens-
(until It came to us)
we found it in the rain.
I
look back at the day a forest misted around us.
We were dressed like Adam,
but the purity of the water distracted us.

Do you see us more clearly here, God,
when we ascend to metal heights?
Or do you prefer to come to us,
to bend low and pick us up?
I love You more because of this,
because You were restrained.
Not out of pride or arrogance,
the Maker was contained.

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