The ringnecked dove cooed.
A sad man yearned,
disquieted
by the echo of her longing.
At the sound of her desire,
eyes welled,
sudden as underground springs
bursting.
She mourned her
only one. I responded.
Loss is the loss
of your one and only.
I called back a cry
but grief was between us.
I revealed myself.
She stayed hidden.
I felt love’s sting
on the sands of Alij
white tents along the slopes,
the large-of-eyes,
gaze languid,
glances fatal,
eyelids sheathes
of swords that glisten.
I choked back tears
from what was hurting me,
hiding my love from the blame-monger,
acting well.
Until the crow cawed
time to leave, time for separation
and exposed the love runs wild
of a man who grieves.
The riders reached, cutting
the nose-rings of their camels,
red roans beneath the saddle,
moaning, yearning.
Before my eye
I saw the cords of fated death,
as they loosened the reins
and clinched the strap of the saddle.
In the fever of love,
separation kills.
Finding her
would ease the burning.
No one blames me
wanting her.
I love her
beauty wherever she turns.
