And here is the poem, or at least a version thereof:
Occasionally, I am adrift. Look up:the star-splintered sky is full of time,whole generations speeding away.On a warm evening you can hear a beatrising and falling on the breeze;drying my sweat, there’s a gust of Welshthrough the open window. Look up:Gandaberunda in flight above Kilburn,a phoenix rising above Edgware.North west London is alive with wings.Astonishments, I suppose, but this happenswhen looking for gods or reasons.
Note: Information on the magical, mythological Hindu bird Gandaberunda, here.