I hear a sheep go baa in the middle of the city
Or perhaps it’s my neighbour’s cat trying to do their Simba thing
Or the tease between a stray door and the wind
Or maybe a sheep really did go baa.
Their staccato vibrations
Pleasantly pierce through the tweeting birds
Who have no concept of a DM
Or the watershed
Their warbles permeating the timeline.
I sit- looking out the slither of window not covered by
A curtain I never chose
In a house I do not own
And send my final salutations to a sky
Who has lost its sun but not succumbed to full darkness yet.