Marrakesh

One fine afternoon I sat outside

with such a capacity for joy

and like a little child I believed

 I was controlling the movement of the clouds

with my brow.

Then from out of nowhere

a flash of blinding light

hit my eyes for a second

and I asked —

Is this the beckoning of the beloved?

Or a reflection of some silverware

Hanging outside a shop in Marrakesh

On our Journey To The City Of Love

On our journey to the city of love

we crossed mountain passes

and dangled on edges and cliffs

and the open road welcomed us

unending dust and mirages of heat.

I watered a roadside cactus

with salty fountains shooting from my groin

out behind a rugged boulder

was a colourful serpent flaunting its forked tongue.

In the rolling plains

with different shades of green

were fields of gilded wheat and corn

and other hard knock crops.

The expanse grasslands

looked like a playground of angels

and every single tree was beautiful

their drooping branches

kept the river in a state of constant seduction.

When we reached the city of love

the outstretched arms of a long lost friend

reached out to us

for a feast in the house of David

eat this

drink this

and here is a soft pillow and white sheets

to rest your weary head.

Tell me

was there ever a shortage of miracles?