The cold wind 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.