Deus Lunus

The Woolwich Moon God is stippled 

milky white, crater grey. 

His waning face watches

you walk from Elizabeth Line to workshop, 

spies on you all later, drinking outside 

Dial Arch. Black parasols do block

the sun’s stare, but not the moon’s frosted gaze.

Perhaps you didn’t notice

Deus Lunus – but he noticed you.

The sunset snags in barbed wire,

salty spirits call out your name. You have crossed

the River, you have found your way. 

The moon flashes above Canary Wharf –

Deus Lunus strikes a pose.