"Moses."
Rustle of rivers, Martins prepare for flight.
Reeds, noiseless chaperons, stand in a pound.
So many city mouth, so many houses' eyes.
Where are you, glance of human kind?
And giving wind, clocks always thirsting for impermanence.
Drink time as in coffee cups, with brims
besmirched by lipstick.
Farewell, warm bricks, shutters.
Farewell.
Day draws to an end.
Steam engines drills under plumes of flowering acacias.
Snakes sway on a narrow path, the small sound
falls onto a wicker raft like Moses.
Elated owls shout December passwords.
A first star whistles in the sky, coveting fingers
of nettles quickly grow.
Where are you, gaze of exaltation?
All is boredom without you.