This country, built by rail, backed by steel,

its hours, when men still judged noon as apex

of the sun, forged to keep trains from colliding

and dollars flowing while the immigrants,

packed in boxcar crates, drove the nails.

Christ, too, was nailed, long after pharaohs

drove themselves into the starry heavens,

greeted by Orion, with star offset,

ensuring eternal life through the power

of Osiris, resurrection god before the thorns.

Hail happy Coincidence, which brought

dread Christophe into our reedy shores,

and broke the back of empires, none less

than his own, as colonies slain upon a

continent grew mightier than momma.

Hair Error, fortunate accident, which made

him reconsider that circumference,

estimated by Greeks, upon whom fortuna smiled

when their papyrus Arabs preserved,

which they alone could subtract to zero.

Had only this dread fear forsaken

my tiny mortal frame, some immortality

might well have accrued in some Swiss bank,

and usura would not have swept

these days, timid, unto the sea.

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