The following is an occasional poem that I wrote Thursday morning, the 13th of September 2001. At the time, I had been working on a science fiction novella about the water ice on the Moon, and during that week, I was trying to write five pages to read at my writers’ group that met on Fridays, but after the terrorist attacks, no words would come. Until, that is, this poem popped out. I wrote it in a flurry and have made only minor changes since then. (This is one example of why the Muses feel real to me.)
I’m interested in the opinions that my readers have about this poem. Here it is:
Blue morning over Manhattan rises
As the summer turns to fall.
Below, two towers, drawing all
The world, are reaching toward the sky.
Two towers, each the counterpart—
A bit of steel and a bit of clay,
Not angels, no, nor demons they—
Are both within the city’s heart.
One will ask what have we done,
And one will ask what will we do,
But where we stand decides the view
That can be seen beneath the sun.
Rising, rising, seeking light,
Two towers rise to hide the dark,
But darkness leaves its dyeing mark,
And day must fight against the night
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