Is she hidden in the rain, the one who is sought even this year? Weather prophets, mournfully, predict a drought, even this year.

Go! Tonight you have an invitation to the palace of broken mirrors. Only in rooms of glass can forgetting be taught, even this year.

Who heard first, on the radio, about love's hurricane? Doesn't matter. Drink the tears love brought, even this year.

Hush! Don't speak of silence. Don't speak of murder and oppression. No prophet will come to unite death's invisible knot, even this year.

There is no escape from the butchers. Stand Witness. Tickets to exile can't be sold or bought, even this year.

In America, where History sloughs it's skin every season, Beloved, your advice to love we forgot, even this year.

There is no calculation mistake, O Shahid, in this sum of ache. Teach me how to bear it, for to Pain He - the most merciful and compassionate - has alloted even this year.

For Agha Shahid Ali - the Beloved Witness

Note: The poem is written in a form called the Ghazal. It became canonical in Persian poetry around 12th century. It consists of couplets, with a refrain (even this year) and a rhyme scheme (sought, drought, taught etc). Shahid was largely responsible for popularizing the Ghazal in American poetry.

You must praise the mutilated world - Adam Zagajewski

At twenty six, when lines Have finally hardened around your mouth And your hairline is receding faster than the backwash Of time,

You receive a copy of a poetry magazine With your first poem to go on display, In that bordello district, for the buying public. It’s a love poem whose muse had sold you out At some seedy, half forgotten town, upriver.

So as if to make up for your tentativeness, Your virgin inexperience in the arts of loving And not loving, the kind editor gave you Two new masks, by spelling your name In two different ways - both wrong.

2004:04:24 23:30

Begining of broadcast

I received two copies of the Spring/Summer 2004 issue of Atlanta Review earlier this evening, and lo behold! it included a poem entitled 'Ballad', which perhaps was written by me. This poem (or drag queen) can be found under the same covers as Billy Collins's (the Poet Laureate of US of A, 2 or 3 years ago) three poems. One can perhaps buy this issue in the Atlanta area bookstores for $6. However I would personally invest my cash more wisely.

End of broadcast

[A Mouthful of You]

City streets on the window, Are reflections of this day: Passing people, cabs and buses, Memories of urgent lovemaking Dissolving into shades of gray.

Ominous flash of sheet lighting, Twitching branches of birds and trees, Dull honking of vehicles and desires. The world, Darling, falls away when my mouth Fills up with pieces of you just as the windows Are obliterated by the splashing rain.

Written to the soundtrack of ‘Before The Rain’

[Calling Beatrice]

It’s raining over the sea, the world Becomes the sea, you are the sea. What fruit of sadness do you hold? It spills out of your black eyes Smelling of burnt camphor.

I am at the window counting days On the grille - an abacus of water. Fishermen are hauling in their catch, Forms and voices lost in the bi-directional spray. Will you, Darling, ascend from the deeps Or descend from the heights? Answer For I will know which water to drink

Written to the soundtrack of ‘Il Postino’