walk the spiral
up out of the pavement
Into your reflection, into
transparency, into the space
where flat planes are curves
and you are transposed
as you go higher into a thought
of flying, joining the game
of brilliance and scattering
where fragments of poems,
words, names fall like glory
into the lightwells until
St Mary Axe is brimming
.....................................................
This is a poem by Jo Shapcott that I came across thanks to London Underground's ever enjoyable Poems On The Underground program.
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