Some time after midnight, when the bars have closed,
the hoots and laughter of revellers
on the stone-clad stairs wakes us. Much later
wind, billowing through the open corridors
of the steel framed building, shakes our door
intermittently like some errant soul.
In the shallow valley below the hotel
a cock crows above the gusts and the rattles.
In the morning a warm west wind blows
over the sea from what was Carthage.