The Blue Arab stands with his hand out, holding three little dates from the golden date tree. He rushes the broken down bus singing a song his father taught him; his singing drips with desert moonlight that once lit his Koran in the deep holy infant night, where his father told him stories about dervishes mad with divine love and fantastical creatures that drink from the same light. The dates are a gift for a woman – she who has constellations in her eyes and dreams of Cairo 80 years ago with the lavish promises of rich merchants and the latest Parisian fashions, where strange magicians would come down from the mountains to grant young women their wishes by putting new flowers in earth-red bowls and silver clean water – promises of love and love-making and tears falling down the face of lovers overcome by the divine madness of an Other singing to an Other in a tongue that is only known by two beloveds.
A moonlit night
blossoms open & her white dress.
A moth flutters against a windowpane