#poetry

They will be missing

The flight instructions

at dawn

on the roofs.

They will be missing

the first reconnaissance in April,

the whistle

in the indefinite hour

of the evening

when the bat

flies grazing.

They will be missing

the crockery

the voices

the towels hanging out

the quiet of Sunday

down in the courtyard.

Between here and there

there is only

time to fill.

They will be missing