The eclipse in the soldier box, the
lady with the scarf, and two old
gents insisting they were playing
cards. Out front, there's a dark and
swarthy lady taking photos of the
scene. Curb to curb her fine lights
shine. In the distant heights, I see
a silver plane go sliding by.
In times and places like this, there is
only dark silence or grim words.
That's what the world is like to
those involved. I can imagine
little else but straining scenes
such as these.
The little man is wiring something to
the box at the front of the building.
Three women are having tea while
sitting at their table in the sun.