She holds all these little ones

closest pressed as dried flowers

whose scents fade not

beyond nostalgia

it is not sentiment

nor fragrance from salvation

now she is almost 5 billion years old

though asking nor aging

bearing her weakness

it is not only wisdom she holds

this book can not be found

sometimes I hear Her tones

intrinsic instruments

a tanbur celebrant

attends music as ceremony

melodically enchanting

eye of Ney

I become one with a desert

remembering once my soul

has lived there

seeking graceful clans

camels jubilantly moving

their long necks wave

hello goodbye

hearing clatter

jewels charms ankle bells

bracelets chatter

rhyming rhythms

daring daunting taunting dance

Her story His story Our story

only one

lonely one

the marginal

forsaken one

blending

mending

O

N

E

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