a cool open courtyard
every twenty miles or so
a caravanserai with a hundred camels
a donkey leads the way
a sensible fellow with a nose
for theological turn-offs
that only lead to bad minarets
and the scholar’s stalls
the glowing tiles still intact
now selling bracelets like
the one you brought me
my people have always
worn bracelets the old woman said
so we will know the one we love
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