Looking down into a cauldron that's coming to the boil,
imagination making bubbles in the sand. Sand bubbling
along before the diggers, 'dozers, donkey-workers and
a trail of toiling tractors. There Levels 1 through 2
to Level 3 are to be flattened, levelled out to make a plane
as level as the playing fields of politicians' dreams.
More elegant and slender yet, than garden trellises,
tall spires of steel, and cables thin as spider silk, ascend,
section upon section, past my viewpoint, past my eyes,
to partly vanish in the mist where is - but not for long -
the wonder of a sky unable to survive the final phase,
for other wonders yet are on the way. We're looking at
the modern counterpart of something like Stonehenge,
for there above the towers, the booms have made their bows.
They criss-cross just below the sky in horizontal play
where they'll whisk away the daylight with their loads.
Where yesterday was green land and a doctor's surgery,
are now the forceful signs of progress on the way.
Beyond all this, the end game signs, last days for some:
steel girders rise in 3-D matrices like one enormous puzzle
that a cruel world has set, yet knows you will not solve it, for
the biggest puzzle no one gets is what the puzzle is.
Let's guess each space is glass or grey - there must be
something we can do to win this life's life-changing prize!
The moon petals the sea. Rose petals the sea. Stone sea. Stone petals. Rose petals of stone. Stone rising before me. Sea moves. How moves...
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What makes us suppose that only the living grieve? Now all but lost in this new and familiar world of tall, leaning-together buildings...