Sun raise one million buildings from bed,
make gold foundations of light beam and rent.
Saffron sky issue new bonds from a million tousled heads,
silver lines write speed upon blackboard highways,
day start like a car, full of poison and combustion,
purpose and accident.
Wind play scales, songs
of beginning, continuing, ending, prophecy, hard fact—
blow leaves and snow, warm scent of buds and now, relief,
as each breeze defines the edge and shadow of summer.
Harbour washes away each day’s sins, promises new treasure.
Transformed island, the city is never complete, loses, gains,
breathes into another stage, another million, another day,
what is left? the fire of belief, trial; making the mouth
that feeds upon itself, that challenges us to wield it,
to make the wild, make it stand still, make the world
stand still.
Peterborough Poets 