rooftop

 

  

the naming of places

The park
The Street
The House
The Railway Station
The City Centre
The Midday Hour

the three hours the city plays dormant lulled scorched The wind crawling braising the throats losing the minds 

We wander around the neighbourhood -the birds have stopped singing a while ago- up the stairs of the open building to the roof waiting for Aunt C's chants and denunciations.