If you happen to stroll
this evening
where there is
hardly anyone else
you will hear the wind
blow savage from
the direction
of slaughter, hot
like the breath of a furnace:
it will flap yesterday’s
newspaper between
your feet, and make it kiss
the cooling asphalt
or slap the walls.
Where you stroll
this evening
the wind will sweep
yesterday’s paper away
and fire will rage
inside and out, in
many spots of our world
It will devour people and buildings
but somehow never burn down the walls.