During the rain break
I hear the infant
Next door speak
The language of cats
I have not seen its face
Do not know if it's a boy or girl
The city hides its newborns
As if Kamsans are after them
Between chores I come to the window
To see if the drizzle has started again
A cloud the colour of snow
Rears up like a polar bear
Catches the sun on its head
Turns dazzling white like in an ad
To be old is to befriend the nonverbal
The cumulus, the petrichor and downpour
Even the silent deity that speaks in dreams.
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