Hope

Chinatown on the Bedford Highway

Moon-beamed signals

Shimmering liquid snakes

Uncoil from beneath

It's not what kills

But lives you

Or what aches

But thrills you

We bomb space

Mine the moon

To take

Every giving tree

We find

Every living thing

We shake

We can destroy the moon

Or the world

We can destroy anything

We claim to love

And there is something to love here

And something to hate

Such is the place

Where circumstance makes

A bombardier of words

On a milk-silken lake

A basin of ocean

Framed in the city;

focused by distance

A fountain of the population

A wishing well of the multitude;

The last vocation of belief