CAROLINA EBEID

Epilogue

A recording of Mozart on those nights one could hear
the shouting of the lost in sealed
railway cars en route (heard all

the way from the concert hall)
makes a difficult night music we may
grow quiet enough to listen to,

and is long like weather hollowing
every rooted thing to woodwind,
weather carrying sirens, knocking down

bicycles and newsstands, sweeping newsprint
into the night that comes roan-patched and early.