I knew a girl who handled fire, And exhaled fumes – it was in that country Where faith turns water into gasoline For lamps.

My body was a wick. I dipped my thirsty hands in her tears And held up knuckled torches for long Nights of pain.

We lived in the same ancient cities But never in one at the same time.

Letters written in blue ink On blue paper arrived and departed Endlessly. They were kites we sent Out into the sky.

Those crumbling cities astride upon Older cities witnessed, and yawned knowingly.

They had seen it all before: that madness, That love beyond love,
Which like the mirror’s dazzling shadow On the wall leaves you suddenly blind.

I was blinded, I admit, And closed my eyes as the sea

Roared in the shell of my ear, The sea, and her singing. She sang me love songs. I sang her lullabies.

Those torches have burnt out. It is quite night again, almost moonless.

With a charred finger I write What a sufi once wailed in a graveyard, "The one who descends will drown, Only the drowned will cross."

Coals flicker. Coals that line The veins of her ever beautiful thought.

Written after reading this.