A rattle of passwords.
Fists drumming on doors
Feet dragged over asphalt.
Shouts in the dark.
A volley
like a gust of rain.
Then dawn.
The old woman
hangs up the dripping sheets.
She presses two stones
to her bosom.
She lays them on the empty beds.
She sits with the door wide open
watering the sun
with tears of granite.
