For the dverse prompt.
The masked faces keep their distance but all I
want is the bread for the week and then I will
fly back to the leaky nest where birdsong filters
beneath the doors and mice pitter-patter
in the cupboards and dog and cats will come
out curious even pleased to greet me home.
So much might change but it won’t the masked
faces will change to bland indifferent ones
the moon will swell give birth to the stars
and shrink and tomorrow the hoopoes
will boom their spring beat as if the
world’s rhythm had not changed.