Change tops sameness with minute scrollwork.
Implacable days, the mind’s vast territory,
proximities, wondrous others;
life peopled with the frisson of ***.

The street, polished by shuffling, shines like old silver.
The sky gives leaves a new green
and as if for the first time beautiful
brickwork glows and the houses, the graffitied factories

that come and go between stops,
their ugliness is beat down
by late blooming trees, out there
and on the bitumen stations.