Houses of glass by the railway line;
The sun that slides off the long lines
as you cross in the heat
you find amidst the grass
that gathers round your ankles
in the summer.
Plastic wrappers shining white
with the sun, see-through, or colours faded
with the train's approach, a sound
like air, a hot sea, rubble falling
in a distant city, come to buffet the breeze
with a sudden shock.
And when it passes and the blue haze
blows again, you can hear for the first time
in insects singing and buzzing around
the dry bricks, wooden fences and laundry.
And see above, in the house of glass
the woman come to look out
across the wasteland
to the towers of the city.