Colonia at Dusk

You can count the sounds you hear.

You can count the sounds you hear:
a bike coming to a stop—
the noise bleeding off into stillness;
footsteps—
sandals on cobblestones;
crickets high within the trees;
a dog barking at a cat.
Geraniums grow by the wall
upon which I write this note—
an old stone wall
in the town of Colonia
by the Río de la Plata.

A poem by Pemba Umoja