Train gone the fennel stalks resume
quiet a wind-light scent aniseed
Stalk levels reach up steep inclines their hold
and force repeating each summertime
Edwardian stones impacted deep
surface below sleepers, mute tangible scatter
Or from acacia and peppercorn humus
amidst paper mulch and refuse
Little grasses spiky or downy
splurge green evidence
Where they cannot be picked
where they field flowers go
Ants from hideouts file through stems
slow some, large with food specks
Seed-headed fennel and ivy
and a tangle of purple passion flowers
In breeze silence, unattended but for
an old Italian man with secateurs
I sometimes think of what he might say
to so much profusion
On the vacant declines of Westgarth-Richmond
i.e. what might I say?
And here it comes the next one
passengers at windows blank with ipods
Steel wheels gently press down rails
the immemorial roar eleven seconds
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