Marked in Damascus
You prune, snipping
away what's failed
to thrive in sand
and heat and dust,
you, raising a desert
storm's lament of love,
its echoes uncountable
in the splintered wood
of ouds. Deep in a tangle
of sweet white jasmine
vines, the Levant viper
uncoils, its head already
marked. I hear you
hiss before it strikes.
© 2013 Maureen E. Doallas
Sunday, April 28, 2013
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2 comments:
I am in awe of your ability to say so much with so few words.
Beautiful and powerful!
Yes to what Louise said.
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