We discover/
make a cacophony
inside a square of dull silver–


(a hole, wholly gutted
and cavernous;
there is no end)


the sky is concrete,
but the walls, like worn


jeans have felt a million
hands, turquoise fingerprints/
thumbprints/
palm-prints


and scuffed heels carrying/
kicking
                        glass sediment and flakes


of old paint,

not burnt sienna, but
harsh orange/
a glimpse
of acid yellow
flecks

(they stick
in my arteries).


               Through the flash of
                             lenses they discover –


we dive through the walls
and every hand we find
offers a gift –


we permeate the concrete,                                                        we permeate the concrete
collect as an entity,                                                                   an entity of colour --
brilliant red                                                                               a blue-green puddle
                                                                                                like the scales of a fish.