Summer in the city

One degree, two degree, refugee, four;

Here are the honeybees stacked on the floor.

Chittagong, Jakarta, Hamburg, New Orleans;

Progress is a million men in metal and glass machines.

Here is the smiling billionaire floating off to Mars;

Here are the endless satellites we thought were shooting stars.

Here is the mountain shifting, here the acidic sea;

Here is the way we have been told it was always meant to be.

Here is our intelligence and here the final bird;

Here is every former thing and each redundant word.

There is a hand that guides us and all is for the best;

So kiss the fist that loves you and put the kids to bed.