Beyond Stratford station's rust fence,
a field in plough: farrow and till -
ripe for seeding.
The warehouses have been folded away
so architectures can set root, bed down -
glass petal, steel stem.
Spark-snouted moles delve through clays,
their spoilheaps a sawtooth horizon -
We all watch: our diamond-cold eyes catch
each change daily: today, a groundfrost -
sods snap in the ice.
Men in plastic hats check their vision
against clipboard bibles: origami maps -