We lick mystery out of the air
as we scuttle around in the dust
and sweep our rooms.

We have names for everything
we don't understand
pencilled in letters in midair.

We eat imported apricots out of season
and feel blessed while
babies die in bombings.


Cracks appear in the sand
which is impossible
yet they are visible.

Blind lizards rise speaking
the words of holy books
and are captured on film.

We walk through the remains
of our minds and tell
stories of the old certainties.

Flies hum and lay eggs on walls.
Someone tells of seeing a phoenix
struggling in the ashes.


I had garlands in my house
and the ceiling was hung with roses.

Mango and lychee fell from trees.
Lemongrass and ginger
scented morning tea.

I drank dawn light and
wove rainbows into cloth.
The birds spoke to me of God.

Errant bombs found me
and now I live like a rabbit in a hole
writing poems on outhouse leaves.


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