There’s No Place the White Clouds Can’t Go

Nowhere the plumage of doves and angels

isn’t moving

over the dusty stairways of the Ancient City.


The Moorish tiles spell


as always, the name of God

in letters of fire,

in the shade of blue that is exactly your eyes after love.


I know both those loves.

They take wing inside me,

as if I were an invented city

and you had designed the streets.


I am all plaza and gazebo, 100% zocalo

where women

in long silks spin in an ecstasy of Godfire.


That is how it is entirely.


Just like that.


Ajah, Ajah,

Come to me as if you are me

and I will come to you


Every alley, every sidewalk

crack is breathing in enormous broken joy


You know we have come at last home

because we can’t see anything here

that is not already the Beloved.

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