Hour of the Shepherds
(Perhaps we, hidden as we were, looked to find our
bearings: the direction of where behind the mountains
behind the clouds was George’s sheepfold surrounded
by tree branches, and George, so young, surrounded by
a great circular loneliness. Would his hands remain
as strong, as unquestioned during such a rain?)
The last flies swirled around the rooms, as if drugged
almost dead
like tiny inkwells full of black ink that fell off the shelf
of a childish disease;
a passing troupe performed in
the big café of the upper neighbourhood; the troupe also
included two midgets. Children had great fun; they
felt that they had suddenly grown; they could now
look deep in the water well or to climb up to the attic
and scare away the small geckos and cockroaches.
Ribbons, tied on the hair of the girls, became alive,
pinned the hair behind the ears of the girls, their necks
leaving their faces clear, powerful like steel (those kids
of another era, of the upper or the lower
neighbourhood?)
