I hide my eyes,
but still the hand of heat lies heavy on my head.
Throbbing darkly like the sun,
shadows bob in and out of sight.
Flowers, an unexpected joy,
frazzle in their coloured crowns and gowns,
thirsty even after storm rain torrents.
Walking these hard pavements
is like walking the floor of Hell,
and the brazen coping of its roof
is falling in molten drops
on this dry, whispering world.