First thing this morning the first
bridge closed, running late,
and over my shoulder a pocket
of lake, under a scowling sky–

It’s hard to say why or what
has changed, but the flat
glint of skyscrapers through
the downtown corridor
was so real it seemed phony–

not tortuous as that turn of phrase,
but clear and clearly resolute,
a setting set, not buildings I knew,
although they looked just like them.