The window has let in a benignly cold air
Between a promised rain and a buried rain
Of yesterday’s clouds dripping from trees.
I close windows to formally remove a cloth
Of needless wool warmth over old shoulders.
A mountain arrived by a kind monkey god
Who promptly consumed garlands of eats
In his ample rolls of neck, a laughing matter
In the foolishness of our pre-facto desires.
The monkey who burnt an island with a tail
Will surely bring us mountains of smugness,
Our desires realized in solid gold and power.
The cold wind shall cease only on our graves
When our desires no more burn in temples
And our gods turn silent in their sanctums
And look away quickly from our burning eyes
Entirely embarrassed, of promises not met.