Truth
But no one ever speaks
of sea-wide expanses
of clear sky, refracted
silver-coins on wave-tips,
and pregnant palm trees
unfurling frond-boughs
heavy with green-mesh
ladling unripe-as-yet
dates to be picked in fall,of palm-frond plumes
netting the sky like a
woman’s sacred caul;no one speaks of the
desert’s chalet-roads
lambent with mirages,a piebald sky with
puffball clouds
ruptured at the edges,of dark green seaweed,
like pliant obsidian
trawled by the waves’
strumming on the sea-face,of swatches of fish-bones
fine-fettled in the morning
sand, pure and untrodden,no one speaks of the sky
huffing wind, chinking
porch lanterns, suffusing
spadices with life-breath,
bespattering pollen; no,no one speaks of these:
when they open their silent lips,
they just complain of allergies.
via shurooqamin.com
