Over the dusty valley
in the deep shaded sun
shining like pale gold,
the hills slowly grow;
their crowned silhouettes
finally freeing the land.

Worn men sleep in their boots
or gaze from the mesa
at the living clouds
in the blue silence.

The last boats of the evening
whistle secretly across the silver night waters
like some lonesome lingering men
expecting their daily last-minute pleasure.

---

Scenes of life in the calm
village night.

A couple holds each other
in the warm mist of the
front porch;

a hand reaches out from behind
the curtain.

There is a certain silence to the late rhythms.

These kids celebrate the life
of the dead street pigeon.
Dark streams down their brown faces,
they intone their private lamentation-
One exposes the corpse
to his little circle, holding it up
the wings stretched out.