The Quay Staircase

I believe this poem's copyright was stolen from me. It was first published in 2003 by Poetry Now.

The Quay Staircase

Marked by an ancient symbol,

Celtic sandstone is a backward-spiralling carpet.

Steps on the riverbank

Become a staircase.

Leading to black-night water,

We come to Industry's river.

Fire that leapt around broken windows

Has become a fluid charcoal,

Trafficking drugs, pig-iron and human waste.

Stone shortbreads,

Sugared with dust,

Appear like a ghost.

The river died because of us,

And now its epitaph goes back in the fan of time.

A classical stairway still has a place

In a farrago temple.

And although falling badly,

An awkward skyline takes a prize in the Echo.

Yellow boots stand waiting,

At the foot of the steps.

Haunting evidence of the lost laughter and deserted soul.

A central octagon has occult meaning,

It patterns every step.

The runes are cast for the turn of the century.

Semper Eadem.