The wind

Yesterday morning a little bird shrieked on the wire
My garden was full of them and under them, below the wires
Meanwhile the loops continued endlessly in my mind
While the summer season seemed to be undecided
When the monsoon would begin in the salt water and hills
And journey across the mountains and windy coconuts.
My words are silly giggling girls playing in the moon
Together they do not sing but hum like the pipal leaves
When the wind comes from across the the distant hills.