When I wade to the bright city
The city that is closest to me
And swim the deep channeled water
Running outward to the sea.
Lights suspend and seem pristine
Floating skyward and ascending
On slender filaments unending
To the pious city of Augustine.
My city is not that saintly city
And avarice, sin and strife
Live in daily concourse amid
Both dearth and mortal delight.
Men of business, bodily men
Rise and sweat and tend
To pass beneath that which at
Once is both a means and an end.
Heaven I pray as I pass, consigned
To the concrete and earthly light
That I may return home again
And be redeemed to your truer delight.