The little demons appear after dark to survey what’s left.
It’s never much. They frisk and flounce and dance until day breaks through.
They’ve known since birth what’s coming. All that remains to be done
is live it. There is no language like theirs. That’s why they’re demons.
What new world could ever do them proud? They have their own. Hear them
listen. When the sky purples the rest of the day glides west.
(18 May 2013)
copyright 2013 by Floyce Alexander