Drawn from the swirling corners of the city The stone-dwellers return. Their altar is the screen of moving, Insistent water, perpendicular, Rushing, dividing the blare of the city Into a milennium of liquid concordance. The young trees leaping from concrete, Offer the gentle hope of this season. Flowers grow from half-moon bowls, Anchoring the ephemeral with the absolute. The pilgrims to this Mecca sit quietly In the relaxing curves of modern chairs, Surrounded by cold shafts of glass and steel. The oasis calls as vines show green veins And here and there a new leaf prosphesying.