March Evening

Millwall Park March evening.
Cranes rise white and pure -
robotic ghosts as
silhouettes in negative against
a darkening sky with almost quarter moon.
Harbingers, they haunt
above a scaffold skeleton,
wrapped in pale fabric,
metal spectres of futures that
will pull new hallways, floors,
whole homes and balconies
from which residents will watch grass,
black as water, spread round evening athletes
who bob in the out-door gym.
Along a tarmac shore a mother
in Niqāb, shimmering gold trim,
pushes a double buggy past
a shoal of darting roller blades,
and cyclists drifting home.
Backdrop of towers glow,
with central lighthouse blink.
The dlr, a quiet rumble from brick arches,
drowns evening blackbirds
and enters Island Gardens.