Too much Sky, even at Twilight

A hot unlikely twilight.
The white lamps down Portland Road call an old August down from the sky.
Someone reminds me of autumn, though I have never seen her in autumn. Stairs in a tower, leaves on the steps. I walk slow round the shelves of Sainsburys, Diet Coke and milk, and the aisles are crammed full of people who look lost somewhere between Portslade and Brighton.
We're in the halfway state here.
Keep looking at that space where the church used to be. Great old Mediterranean looking thing, abandoned factory vibe, and a cool dust settling on all those dark rooms inside. Pigeons and pews and old prayers. They tore it down when I wasn't looking, and now there's too much sky, even at twilight.