in the attic on my way to the roof
pick up the two newborn kittens

their frantic mews at this alien invasion
draw the mother who knows me well

in her owl eyes are written
though love smitten
don't cuddle them too much.

past them i move to the roof.

on the mango tree
the crow nest is empty.

was my bonding with the two chicks
for those weeks
a waste?

dusk falls with a sigh
heavy on my chest.

you swept the ashes of winter
lit red and ****
drawn naked with smoke
and coal
still glowing
in the shadow of paper flowers
pressed to walls of plaster
and stone

careless grass of our sins
as if by luck on the number
seven
a prism you capture a rainbow
while you finish your days in prison

insensible to the shimmer of your
crimes ice cream proves
the ingenuity of our suppers

stars hang out at night
linen left to dry

red geraniums along the balconies
nodding, nodding
willing to agree to anything
just to keep their color

a gang of kids running through the streets
faceless pranksters
the moon a plate held before each face
who am i? saying who am i
running through the streets saying who am i

the shadows of the buildings
becoming cats that move away
the trees immobilized
left to stand alone in the dark
rubbing their bark from regret
like cicadas

oranges have more delicacy
softly falling, falling
in the groves
on the hills
softly eaten, eaten
by the earth
swallowed whole
as if by a snake
not earth
as if by millions
slithering in the groves at night
millions
stalking the oranges that fall softly
softly to the earth

hunting there in the groves
that form a ring around each town