SIESTA

Noon. The village sinks

into bright midnight.

In the room, a draft coasts the spine of a dozing man,

the woman lying on a

kang

-mat, her child at her breast,

their fragrant bodies aligned with earth.

Cicadas drone. At the head of the trough a donkey

flicks its tail at mosquitoes and flies.

Under a squash trellis, a covey of chicks loll in the shadows,

their gold eyes now and then revolving.

The faint sounds of such motions—

the deepest silence in the world.