This early morning caught the first sense of cool
Though the beguiling sun invited me onto the train
And out. And so began the randomness of journey,
A geranium opens tiny cups of orange;
The water draws a line against the horizon;
That building site
Of soil piled grey in heaps as a scar is cut, corrupting
The city’s shoreline with money; they’re growing
A yellow flower protruding from the railway vine;
A cyclamen in the bathtub tossing pert white crowns
At the passing show. Words: indolent, impertinent
The magnate, not the gardener.
Home to huge blocks
Of freshly chopped-down palm tree from somewhere
I could not see for the dark.