It was getting dark.
The silence starts speaking
to me in a whisper
for the sake of secrecy.
Right now,
the violence will start
between the summer night
and a brilliant moon.
I sit in a corner
to watch the milk spilling.
And then, after couple of hours
an anonymous call from
a cuckoo in distress. Somewhere
a dry twig snaps off. Something
is tossed in air. A shadow pokes
at moon to return the favour.
