The Recruits

"Nothing moves," you say, and stare across the lawn.
"The sun is everywhere. There will be no breeze."
Birds line the gutters, and from our window
We see cats file across five gardens
To the shade and stand there, watching the sky.
You cry again: "They know."
The dead flies pile up on the window sill.
You shudder as the silence darkens, till
It's perfect night in you. And then you scream.

Ian Hamilton, Cinquenta Poemas, Nuno Vidal (Trad.), Livros Cotovia, 1995.