She is screaming something at somebody
in a language we do not understand. 

Long past midnight, the commotion disrupts
sleep and causes acute unease of mind. 

Her voice’s enraged tenor rises up
from the floor and comes abrupt, unbidden

through open windows into our bedroom
where it flies chaotic on blackbird wings:

in and out of the doorway, careening
from wall to wall, then pausing to hover

above our faces awakened by fright.
Sudden quiet. It dissolves. We are left

only with concerned imagination
as to what is happening below us. 

A mystery that will remain unsolved,
evidence of ill erased by morning.

The sun shines through the balcony’s glass doors.
A smudge of incense wafts inside our home,

its apparent source the downstairs neighbor. 
Strange-to-smell, and potent enough to be 

offensive, we close ourselves in against
this heinous spirit, whatever it is – 

though it now feigns to be tame and bleary –
so it cannot take residence with us.