Evil AirNow only the laundry’s foam is left
a swarm of cats devouring
pieces of dry bread a few
rusted “for rent” upon the doors
and the wind a wind ah a cruel air
since everyone ran away
behind the donkey at night,
with the stuff their stuff from the house (the little
that is useful and is kept)
and the dust lifts in this upheaval as the air
takes on the whiteness of a stoneheap.
Down the whole slope people tumble
along the crumbling slope people’s carts
tumble even those belonging to louts
grimy with sleep who don’t hear
others tumbling and talk nonsense
tonight they talk hurriedly to a voice
that is only a voice.
They have left sidling along the walls from
the glassworks the slaughterhouse
from the houses huddled under mulberry trees without
mush or even a turn of the key,