Fading

I come to this room in the afternoon 

A habit that draws me here

To consider the day

Often outside the vecinas potter

And quietly chat in soothing French 

Voices drifting through the fly screen

Sparrows chatter in the jacaranda 

Flitting in the mottled shade

Twitching their tails and wings

Whilst the hens and goats next door

Cluck and huff in the slowing time

As the afternoon exhales

A slick of rippling light

As sirocco breezes stir the stillness

And quiver across the scene

I come to this room in the afternoon 

Your margin of memory clinging

Desiccation of drought in my soul

Forgotten dust on my tongue

Your strange colour in my eyes