I alone feel;
the sand beneath my feet.
It’s the hour when bats mingle
with the crows,
buffeted by the breeze in
disorderly rows.
The windowpanes shine coppery bronze,
the tall tower rendered
fascinating
by the long-tailed monkeys, languorous,
moving with an ease, listless,
on the high ramparts, mindless
of the fear of falling
in love, the mynas rest in pairs
high up on the tall araucarias.
I hear clicks I can’t place, n
trills,
as pipistrels begin the evenin
drill
n the light begins to fade.
The monkeys are stone gargoyles
made
feelingless, n I too, feel not,
the sand beneath my feet;
the crows are not to be seen.
