Look down and you’ll find me digging

In a space contrived from some happy squalor

Between grey towers and crane-braced sky

And in the middle is etched a maze of intersections

Below a world of bleary morning tea and paper shops

With their colours run in last night’s rain

Deep in the mud, in the muddle

In this bottomless hole

A perpetual state of incompletion

While the prim-suited glass eyes

Gaze across to seek their prize

But I cannot tell them

That as warm pools of reflected sunlight

Bathe the arid upturned plains

Of the multi-storey car park

I have found it here