Fugaz

rooftop shoot­ing stars
the warm cream /yellow glow of lights from sur­round­ing houses
the voices on the hot air
occa­sional breezes
talk of the left and power and language
and words fall­ing in amongst light and smoke
wine and gazpacho, laughter
neigh­bour­ing televisions
intimacies
child­hood memor­ies of car­ry­ing water from the river
candle lanterns
hash and sweetness
the heat, always, the heat
new friend­ships and red wine
the old town, the stones and history
moments and moments and the night and the light
and the tops of dis­tant cathed­rals lit
labyrinth of rooftops and alleyways
antennas
voices carry in the night
voices on the wings of the wind
still heat, still deep heat
span­ish and eng­lish and french
polit­ics and pregnancy
the shift and sus­sur­a­tion of the night, of the wind, of the heat,
and so close the neigh­bours, their worlds
their whispered con­ver­sa­tions too
lower­ing our voices for fear
in the dark­ness on the rooftop
lying back on cushions
search­ing for constellations
and always, the shoot­ing star, the shoot­ing stars
the heat, the dark, the shoot­ing stars.