Washington, DC

The future
  a bright gleam
  new metal atomic light
 
The past a bullet in the back
 
  mechanical clock
 
  mountains rising
  on the ocean floor
 
  rocks splitting spilling lava
 
  every village
  south north
 
  where have we not put our hands
 
And should the present
 
  try its force at our backs
  we will whip it
into the future by god
 
  and should the small
rain fall
  on a small leaf
 
  there will be no one left to hear it