Sheathed in glass and steel, looming over its neighbors
Yet unremarkable in every way but for that crane
Recently unmoored by wind, reinstated now on its skyperch,
Strapped on its aery, atop six or seven unclad floors,
Unfinished, raw, wrapped in brown, unceremoniously
Plain, unlike the giant pencil box skyscraper on which
It sits, the builing sheathed in steel and glass,
Looming blue and grey, under blue skies and white
Clouds, yearning for completion
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