"A plea to this terra-cotta trim,
may fill this upturned cup to the brim.
Then brownstone becoming stonecrop
over trillium and bloodroot,
native species all, crow to existence."

"Brown earth, Our hotel of
Baked clay overshadows even you,
After death overshadows Us."

Then a final form insists to his ear,
there at the threshold--
that such sacrifice is not suffering--

"Of some wine we make a dais,
and with this bread we feed
The Commonwealth of our union."

"Sealing it in the ferment,
Sweet, cool, so more than daily bread."

Alongside the broad avenue, in a vision,
He sees the future margins of sedum and stonecrop
at the base of his river.