Ghazal of the Dreaming City

The river’s skin comes to the touch of your eyes.

The angle of falling weather predicts the mood of water everywhere.

If grass breaks the skin of your feet, sleep in the dirt like an animal tonight.

Stars are feeding on the flesh of night, arteries glistening like tinsel between their teeth.

A child lies frozen, a chrysalis too tired to emerge. Pure nothing hovers a moment over the body.

Patience. Sleep comes softly as the lapping of dogs drinking rainwater from a skull.

When the city’s stones rise round as nature, trust only doors without locks.

Move toward the window, but not too close. Move away from the window.

Glass broken on such a day will fall forever.

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