Far above the dome Of the capitol—
It's true! A large bird soars Against white cloud, Wings arced, 
Sailing easy in this humid Southern sun-blurred breeze—
             the dark-suited policeman
             watches tourist cars—

And the center,
The center of power is nothing! 
Nothing here. Old white stone 
domes, Strangely quiet people,

Earth-sky-bird patterns
              idly interlacing

The world does what it pleases.
                                                                                         XI j), Washington, D.C

                                                                                                             Marin-an