for the Day31st
the opening of the Docklands Light Railway, connecting the City of London
with its new eastern colony, the Docklands development around Canary Wharf.
The besides of the lines,
angled iron, coded hatches
the vectors secret breadth.
On a hanging tag, meticulously
two bee ex eight stroke one four,
as though every brick in the railways skin were numbered.
We go down by where in winter
we came up
to dripping fingerbones of buddleia, knuckle-grip on mortar,
to the mid-year daze of ragwort's sulphur crowns
and rosebays drift, to the violet curves and white.
raised on a thorax of Victorian vaults,
We are going down to where
the lights depend on knowledge,
to places that are not, by the mile,
where the naked one is buried
among the steel-wound and the colour-sheathed cabling.
Clot of revolving dust between
the seed-self gathering.
The signal breaks up and gives out.
Lay Reader: an archive of the poetic calendar