A Time in Spring
I heard the Cranberries in the back
of the Yogyakarta taxi:
Transmissions from other times,
lingering like window lights
on the dusty street,
warm glow of iftar dinners,
That rushed past as we
sang into the humid night,
Irish troubles bleeding
into a symphony of
Motorcycle signals,
street vendor shouts,
Warung announcers pushing
unfiltered cigarettes, on passing
Tourist crowds.
