Urban meditation

I hear the footsteps of London,
a whisper really, through
a half-woven sleep;
a word softly spoken,
a smile courteous and brief.

Who walked down here,
this cloudy alley,
with rows of brown-brick façades
and lushly leafed genies?

Did he too,
turn this corner
at that old fountain,
and stood,
and quietly
oh quietly,
felt the pulse
of the generations after
generations,
who came here gently musing?

27/6/2013 London, Camden