The city air is swept with swifts.
In gusts they drift, then dart as one,
A howling cloud, a swirling hoard:
They shatter all pretense of calm.
The sky leaks shadows from the trams,
And spreads them through the boulevards.
The dust and smoke that made the day,
Now settle back and sink away.
The heat and drains and old cigars –
An opalescent mix of scents –
Are snaking over castle hill,
And wrap around the wings of gulls.
Above the screams of love and fear,
The swifts fly free through city air.