Canary Wharf

April almost ends and summer
hangs a question on this afternoon -
a moment locked in time -

my foot poised, impotent,
and all around, people
smartly dressed
are frozen in mid stride,
made visible in two dimensions

returned to some beginning -
an architectural image -
of liquid sky,
soft glass and melting steel,
the concrete ephemeral -

and this all should peel back,
reveal what's lost and what is
now suspended,
just below the surface,
aching through into the air,

where ravens stalk fresh grass
in undertakers suits,
the sun swaps
yes or no with clouds,
and pigeons sweep the water.