somewhere in damascus
ad 2011: we ate in a light turquoise room
and great was our bath full of blossom foam and maps.
little antelopes walked round. next to the mosque yellowish
carcasses drifted to the waterfall that rushed quite rebelliously. the courtyard
was slippery with blood. soft groaning of a water wheel.
we jostled and shuffled across the main carpet heated by prayer.
when an old man recited his verses (greatly amplified)
the clocks diverged alarmingly far and converged.
we muttered: hafez bashar maher
someone preached that he was loved and made green light shine
from minarets down completely dark embassy avenues, we rang his mobile.
he received us with jambad stories praised the state of siege:
in three months there’ll be peace. according to syrian sources
the number of apostles turns out to be seriously underestimated.
we pointed to infant icons dirty housefronts concrete blocks
the steam train a euphrates of texts in clay. in the hour glasses tickless time.
the council met on transparent chairs. people observed hunting scenes
arranged roses caught small brown doves. they muttered: hafez bashar maher
paul had an angel somewhere and proved rather naughty. he definitely
wanted a rounder mattress and looked shyly at two ladies in ties with a cat
who passed by. they were naked and picking their way through papers
with long sticks. bibs emerged. they shouted: best not try
the wifi! and they repeated: hafez bashar maher