The Moor
This is what I see:
a grain of wheat in the hand of a small boy
barefoot on the unnamed roads,
sleeping in the dream another is having.
An oud, a violin, a guitar,
a mirror of dew,
a man about to undress,
a woman staring.
A traveler
returning
everywhere
and forgetfulness
stealing from itself.
Maktoub, the Moor says,
we hold clouds in our mouth
and imagine God in our breath.
Nathalie Handal, "The Moor" from Poet in Andalucia. Copyright © 2012 by Nathalie Handal. Reprinted by permission of University of Pittsburgh Press. All rights controlled by the University of Pittsburgh Press, Pittsburgh, PA 15260.
Source:
Poet In Andalucía
(University of Pittsburgh Press, 2012)