LONDON NIGHTS

Dazzling streets form in the gunmetal haze;
my steps falter on Waterloo Bridge, gazing…
slowly absorbing moisture, gazing…
at the glistening tarmac, shining in the rain, and
vapours shimmering
under passing cab wheels.

Tasteful shards of light fantastic illuminate
South Bank’s beaches; the blocks of
chameleon concrete mesmerise…
only me, it seems;
enchanted
in this nano second, whilst
the rest of the city lumbers listlessly on and
the warm soft rain drizzles slowly and weightlessly ,
through the quiet grey air…
so low, and close.

I,mine,London;
the flow and the hush,
the ghosts,
moving,ebbing;
the ghosts,
of tides long passed to other shores,
and other seas,Whilst William
and his lady wife lie sleeping
in Bunhill Fields,
resting
under a spangly silvered
fig tree.

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