Of course how could it be different?
We haven't changed:

late summer—

You call out to the one who walks on castle walls,
wakening the storm lashing trees
to spell the stone steps of a night's curse,

At the bay's edge and day's end, we comb
the shore for beach glass, clouded grains
of clarity among the ground-down,
cast-off shells of other naked creatures

Because water and sewer mains are destined
In corruption to flow together
Toward death's vast leavening.

If she faints while in her fast, the chef awaits
her word in a kitchen hidden at the heart
of the hotel. Her hunger, his counterpart,

Today's subject is an architecture of cards,
laminate, cool, telling no fortunes. It's
the world reduced to a series of integers
plus a face or two, a synthetic temple

Jealousy. Whispered weather reports.
The lure of the land so strong it prompts
gossip: we chatter like small birds
at the edge of the ocean gray, foaming.

1.

In retrospect I'd been waiting
For years, never speaking.
Never needing to learn. I listened

In solitude, what happiness? asks Adam,
   with all of Paradise before him, for him.
The birds of the air, the beasts of the field,

Hatless, in mocking whiteface, Carl Schurz stands,
tricked by the tempest out of blackest bronze.

His basalt Negroes limp along their frieze:
Bare chested, fetters broken, they take liberties