Missing buildings,
and suddenly I see the sky.
Beautifully cut diamond cloud
punctuating perfect platinum blues
and then gone, shed into shadow
and cloud and sunglass softened shade.
Sweating sun shines on the pavement opposite
blisteringly sweet fuming tarmac bins,
on dented flatbed trucks.
Outside rented flatbread bakeries:
no-one working; everybody smoking;
rolling up those tarmac fumes.
Book of Pye 