Docklands the buildings heave and crowd
look down on
the gentler weathered shapes
across the water
well settled on their solid royal bases,
the dome a curve away
shifts slightly as it sinks
its nails into the moving sand
reminds us boats were tethered to this land
the Thames so silent now,
where once a world of ferrymen and sailors
peppered the sea breeze
with wild exotic curses
and scavengers scoured mudflats in their wake,
communication highway of its day
before the houses losing interest
turned imperceptibly
the other way
strange how this island
nearly but not quite
seems semi-permanent
as if in waiting for the crust to crack
the gas to flow
the Thames to take it back
Marina Collins 01/10/08
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