Head and soul reach an end, O foliaged

formless sea mollify in echo and ripple

from the nested abyss of trialisms

and tribulations that|

rather our souls fissure to reach a higher

cartesian plane, one to nuzzle under calculus's

dome,

dreamt of him, intensely quieted present

behind Al Aaroui's sandy mountains

and metaphysical spatiality hovering over

barely belonging to me or my temperance

O integral vein usefully, heed.

Did you know I ate creamy Moroccan

barley for dinner and woke at 4:00 AM to

pray until 8:00 AM, my life passed like this

and he held me in a well of light like

sugared tulip entrenched in time's

presence. Farida,

on the airplane, I saw him. On the right

hand aisle, in seat 22 e sleeping

like a baby musk ox with brownish golden

hair and I said to myself: even his eyelashes

prostrate while he sleeps. His hands

mirrored light and I wondered if I should

wake or leave them shining in

a meadow of atoms. Surely all Tunisians

must sleep like him, until they reach

their destination, O to be

useful, to heal

hoofs and have a soft muzzle and dewy

lap where echos fall and where

I want to rest my head there,

to correspond with the sun touching

his gleaming mind, there is nothing

truer

with pearly teeth, what a shame, my

tasawuf poems are not understandable.

Truly nothing

of this world, fools pomegranate

glassy pupils dilate hot from fire

and I carry within foreign immigrant

speech. Won't you write me soon. Is

it

too much to ask, I know you are

busy with your children and

Mahmoud.

Hope it is soon rather than later,

under vowels and stars

that frighten my being to its

depths God, shield us for a bit

longer.