red sun dies
out a square window
dark wires cross
cracks in the sky
ceramic shingles slope into gutter
a magpie watches over women
washing in the court
they clean black pots
pull off burnt rice
not for magpies but themselves
heat lingers
tin cans rattle rough music
patio nearly empty
magpies land on tables
perch in low branches
say things
I don't want to hear
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