their lights have been left on
so we can see how empty are their offices
plants soon to be watered
by people they will never meet

in this towering cathedral of glass and steel
the weave of metal roof beams
mimes the reach of real branches
under which to shelter

amid the remnants of the day
the floor polisher slowly arcs his rotating brush
while the unbreakable terrazzo
echoes with high heels

in front of the white-shirted security guards
the window-washer strides by
his harness unhooked for now
from the high wire

across the marble floor
as if walking on water
lost tourists and late diners
head toward unknown reunions

amid this empire of teak desks and counters
bare walls stripped of significance
we are granted, for a brief moment,
our minor mandate