| Text at lower edge: Colonial spectres claw at the old Customs House, besieging its verandahs, whirling against shadows ~ elegant lizards climb Dragon Rock ~ ghost crabs scuttle across wet sand ~ at Jozani red colobus monkeys stalk weary tourists ~ damp & heat, mottled walls, Stone Town alleys turn light to gloom ~ nothing is as it was, everything slips away ~ memory is a frail torn fabric ~ yet from this are we made |
