Towers of glass and concrete
imprison forlorn trees.
Fingers of sunshine creep across dark brick,
rough like someone forgot to shave.
Large, white and lumbering;
puffed asthmatically from a giant engine.
Everything is falling away in Russian doll layers.
At the centre there might be nothing.
The dead leaves flicker and tremble.
A resurrection waltz
Magicians hurriedly pull down shutters
on paint-flaked caravans.