Fat harsh stones lay cobbled together
And tower over light-drenched eyes.
Daytime assaults of student life
Pass like gunfire and mud.
She recovers in drumming light
And the emerald glare of trees.
Walls revenge orange into the sails of night
When the street lamps skulk out
Into mouthfuls of dark muscle -
And moths glitter and sing
In joyeous thrashings of light.
Mountains of stone and statue
Scale testaments to labour
And limbs of beauty that mingle
With forests of light and green.
The air dances clean from the dung
Of carriages and jerking knots
Of voice and prayer.
The birds still race and sing inside
The pocket huddlings of sicamore
Despite the torrid greed of darkness.
While mice and rabbits creep through
Crannies of shaven blades of green.
Shivering cold in the Nothern due
They loop hedges and spillings of stars.
Holes nuzzle dark and bright
And echo chimes of battering wind.
She looks so lovely at night,
Does this cavern of education.
In an earthy sun-lit brown
With twists and turns of bitter
Stone, she shows me pictures
In the furnace of burning lights.
Little houses - as if for midgets
Scale lengths of cobbled paths
And trodden collapsed roads.
The panes exhibit gritted and old
Glance-worthy decay of past.
Flaking paint flutters dry
In the winter twilight.