amidst our words grew a cemetery with high walls and grey tombs.

a badly wounded bird came and nestled on our grave, beneath the weariness of the cypress trees.

there was a tired sky that sighed hot breath down the precipice of our necks.

and it was still quiet, but we felt the sorrow,

 

and it was already late:

the shadow of a cage was cast, shamelessly, onto the wall of our backs.