Sprigs of sun-yellow ragwort
Appear just in time
To celebrate the end of the Odyssey
Three years in the same spot
Where the white paint has flecked off
Under the feet of a decade’s commuters
The day a gale blew the trees nearly horizontal
Or when the snow crunched on the platform edge
Or when the harsh August heat bucked the rails
High tide
Low tide
Neap and spring
West Ham, Limehouse
and London Fenchurch Street
