The very edge of the building 
The one of glass 
So fragile by day and in the cloak of night 
Catches the last light 
Of the setting sun
Sharp-angled, it thrusts its shoulders 
Into the fiery horizon 
Brave, unmoving 
It makes a stand
It will endure even as its heart
Of delicate, shattery glass 
Throbs behind curtains of lace 
Fluttering against its radiant face
Glittering, it plucks at the setting rays 
Shining swords drawn against 
The darkening skies 
And tomorrow’s daylight 
Until twilight when it will remind
The concrete world again 
That it still stands
It still prevails, gleaming, upright.