Fringe

Confused in the wind of a thousand days
that carries the muezzin's prayer,
tremulous from atop a minaret standing
against the blue of nothingness,

ending with the tracer lights of ascending dusk
in the triple digits of heat
and the smell of blood and eucalyptus,

taking in the last of my breath with the
first of your kiss, you slide into me
and the white blossoms of birds rise with its scent
from off the slow current of the Euphrates.

The adrenaline rush finds a bullet puncture
meant for a nesting crane, and dissipates,
escaping into night that never goes completely
black from the brilliance of desert fringe,

while behind closed eyes comes the intense burst
of the color tangerine, and the drone of
dragonfly wings among the date palms, and an
otherworldly hush from the spillage of cascading sand.



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