about the weed trees
tossing like water below

and the cumulus steam
from the boiler stacks billowing away

and something, too, about a woman
taking off her heels and leaning

dreamily on the balcony railing
as if there’s an ocean about her

and something about the laundry
strung up between apartments

like flags signalling the future
and about the samba now

wafting in the cool breeze
and moonlight falling from everywhere

and Nevrig dancing on the rooftop with Aram
and the city blazing with lights

like a harbor about to be left behind
with its customs house and identity cards,