four helicopters are roaming the sky scanning the neighborhood. the crows are excited. they land on the fire escape and caw, i think of the kestrels. a lot of activity we feel but never get to know. it's fire season all the time. the protest camp was displaced, the tent shadows faded, there was a meeting marking the beginning of the disaster, mourning for the genocidal present. the zionists had a picnic. alumni weekend is here. looking at the quadrangles now, it's hard to imagine anything like what happened here before it was disappeared, leaving us wondering what next, wondering will there be an after-genocide, listening to the crows and the helicopters, waiting for the sun to drop.