A rainbow of people,
The noise of six million minds.
If a man is homeless, where is his heart?
He’s time-stranded in a relentless city.
People swim past and into each other,
Clothes whisper destinations.
Everything connects, every thing connects.

A protecting eye rotates above the crowd,
I am stopped, asked directions,
Captured, I believe myself to be free -
For the first time I know the way.
Baggage: notebook, coffee, loved one, grudge,
A matryoshka of delight and despair.
Nothing is still or can be.

Here, there, everywhere the rustling of rubbish.
In a busy street walk isolated people,
An armoured man is filmed carrying money,
A miller’s wheel spattered with rain
Weaves spools of time.
Heads are bowed, no eye-contact.
Everything connects.

Glass, metal and stone on glass, metal and stone.
Pigeons flutter their torn poem,
Chameleon businessmen patrol, prospect to prospect,
Birdsong in the trees, chattering on the grass.
Rivers hustle in the darkness below,
An opulent titanic sea miles from danger.
Nothing is still.

A silver crutch taps out city rhythms,
Independent shops battle the city’s chains -
Its guts are money, its eyes are cash.
Truth is hidden behind glass exteriors,
We’re written on pages of the city,
Silent heroes stand in an unimaginable place.
Everything connects, every thing connects.

Victorian optimism soars,
Ice-stone buildings, gothic style,
Measured steps over marble walkways.
Words emblazon the city’s chest,
Each building a tower, each person an ant.
The city spins a new moment.
Nothing is still or can be.

An old massacre weeps under grey stone,
Labyrinthine streets merge mystically,
A peace garden in the hectic city,
A street-dance of cellophane and leaves.
Dark windows enclose secret lives,
Centimetres close but miles apart.
A century of smoke has disappeared into blue air.