Here come the planes… they’re American planes… made in America…
—Laurie Anderson, “O Superman”

Dreamt: your name, the distance from the
Wall, falling, to the Towers, falling still.
Your hair, falling, the length of years:
day for night, that reign of impure
potential, a shadow lit from within.
Your body a whole day, long, getting
longer, falling through the inner
distance, the space between the
north, the south. Your smile,
falling, through your ashen
face, beautiful, grave—

& the century turned
on a dime, a
wake