Lions may lie down with the lamb at an apex, smoky with cloud
on a low day and sea aster grow wild in an indent, angels dancing on the head of a pin. They have their own weather.
Frozen tiles of triangular glass made of coiled sky probe at dawn a hurricane blue and clinging, infinite panels
may capture a noon sun, gaze flaring concave orange later in an orchard glare, lean cormorants wheeling on the wing
towers and skyscrapers flying their own lit panorama.
Sea ravens keep a world above sirens, creeping shadow. Window ranges tiered window like souls mirroring one another, glazed
on ribbed layers gaining height in cold devotion to the sky.
========================= First published in acumen 50! September 2004. Ref. 'Docklands' Southbank Centre Poetry Library requested digitisation July 2008
