Looking East In Winter

The sun rises south

Of my line of vision,

Which is limited,

Blocked by the bulk of

Our own building.

But I can still see the sun rise

Largely on the face of the

Tallest building on the water;

A dull colored block of

Thick-pasty concrete.

It happens so finely that

I cannot name the second,

Just suddenly see the nondescript

Lift its head in gold-face.

Uprights and crossbeams,

Doubly anointed, thrust forward in

Cross-shaped relief

Against angled shadows behind.

Even paste and concrete

Have their language.