Walk the spiral
up out of the pavement
Into your reflection, into
transparency, into the space
where flat planes are curves
and you are transposed
as you go higher into a thought
of flying, joining the game
of brilliance and scattering
where fragments of poems,
words, names fall like glory
into the lightwells until
St Mary Axe is brimming
(Poema de Jo Shapcott expuesto en el metro londinense).
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