Drums should have rolled out our taking

massed horns blared it,

a blasphemed city risen

as the sky split and supernal voices cried

This may not be.

But not

the obscene tranquillity

of a street swept of dirt and alarm

its sleepers calmly blanketed

its long face shuttered, complacent

as pigeons under the linden trees

as we crunched past the corner,

already transported,

for a last look back