between two towers

I started this
in the living room,
with no clear trajectory;
two large towers --
a symbol of the old,
columns with glowing embers
announces all's right
on a Saturday night
pointing skyward over the capital --
the other a prod of the future,
ridges rising like thorns
or the horns on a lizard,
with all the incoming people,
how do we keep them
out of the afternoon sun?

I sat in the shadow
of a clock rimmed with bells,
suspended between
the future and the past,
the taut slack,
thoughts, comments,
and questions posed,
neither well-conceived
nor well-received, but asked.
In this distant present tense,
when moments elude
the abacus of memory,
the collector's appraisal
shortchanges value,
and I don't know how to finish.