From an aerial view it looks like
a giant breast with no nipple,
a tan dome in the middle
of a square city. In Norfolk
this was the height of all
that was modern, the city’s centerpiece
raised to anchor an evolving downtown,
a place for concerts and the circus,
for car shows and boat shows,
with every military and high school
ceremony in between.
Through the clouds I am surprised
How clearly it see it—your new breast
buttressed by stitches around it,
a mountain without its peak.
Can’t imagine this place without its topography,
yet the streets still hums and thrums
as it always has, as it always will.
Every year a crepe myrtle blooms
around you is a gift.