In the aftermath
of all grand gestures
all desolate follies

the powerful are asked
to close their eyes for a moment
and to imagine

the steps they traced
and re-traced
instead stretching on unbroken

toward a world they conjured
before the rats chewed
through the wiring

a solemn exhalation
a pocket of air
smelling like something forgotten

it is one of the rituals of power
like consent to the god
of all good things

one of the keys to unlocking
the hearts and minds of those
who will gladly do their bidding

close your eyes
and try to imagine
a road that straight that narrow