we spent our thursday in an occupied country
and the sheep lent a certain charm

to the broken streets
where children once played football
and the nice man on the corner plucked the guitar

so pardon the silence
and the cigarette smoke

still, every dawn an announcement screeches;
another citizen drops dead

across the bright sea

wait for me
out on the street
the light is playing colors on your hair
which you died red, you dyed red

i missed you last thursday
but i didn’t know,
i didn’t know

who were you
before you headlined
head lined with dirt

       and

                appellations                   ?

listen: crows were perched on telephone lines like epaulettes
and the doves cheered the ringmaster
through the sun, we shut our eyes.