The sun sets, small pools
of water stop vaporizing
and once again, jackals
ever-ready predators pounce
on the vulnerable nests
of birds. Thus rises a call
from the West,
and another cry
from the East.

Night falls on the blacksmith
whose Kaviyani pennant is covered
with dust. And darkness
like napery, or the dead-
eating explorers.

Don’t abandon me!
The Shrine I have chosen
has been bewitched
by those who forge
words and statues.