Seeds drift in peaceable flocks, white feathery tufts

That lodge in the hair. Here is an alpine outcrop

With glittering rocks and thin soil, where rockplants

Crawl beneath the breeze and harebells tintinnabulate

on one-strand, quivering wire stems. Down by the lake

A snake slips like greased steel through marsh plants

The thick mash of green; and in the hothouse,

Palmtrees and ferns press giant frondsto the glass

Like moonish prisoners peering out at life.

Everything’s controlled; there’s a list of rules

And the gardens close at six. It’s a fangless world

Where blue tits flicker to the hand for food

And mallards doze with zipped-up eyes, their necks

Polished by the sun to a regimental shine.

Outside,

The city squats like a toad

With unblinking eyes;

Mottled and blotched and poisonous;

Hoarding this ornament in its head.