Walls
The wall has fallen down.
Once next to the unicorn statue
and covered with contours
of graffiti scribblings,
it upheld a map of matted spray.
Now no nonsense is written here
and the unicorn statue is the only fable
left to watch over rush-hour
at the cross-roads.
Cabs crawling like black moon-lit beetles
are cornered by the red man at the lights
and they stop.
Still, the drivers do not see,
even as the wall is re-built with shining
new stone, that it has fallen.
But like the unicorn, the dark old walls
of Edinburgh stand up
above new ones, and fable
sits beneath traffic lights,
like cement beneath stone.
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