First finches having landed,
Found a suitable place to nest
In rooftiles’ gapped teeth.
Lichen gums, worn enamel,
A tap that can’t be turned off,
I live in a land of crow’s feet
And magpies as relentless as
Camels traversing Saharan
Landscapes. I remember beads,
Kaftans, strange dreams of
Otherworldly animals
Drinking from a sandy stream.
These finches did not know
The motives of crows; now
All I hear is a constant alarm
Like a monotone screech,
A warning, a rallying call to live,
Though their breasts may be
As small as young dwarf
Coconuts before they fall
On undiscovered islands.
