Within the wall a redstart crouched.
It cocked its head, it stretched its wing.
This place would do: it settled in
To pass the night alone and cold.
Around the garden torches spat,
At moths unused to earthly moons.
To lunar flames they offered gifts.
The goddess, grateful, took their wings.
The garden bloomed as every year.
Its evening peace and perfumes seeped,
Beyond the walls with sleeping birds,
Across the jumbled piles of rock,
And on it spread above the bones,
And through the wrecks and shells of homes.