What a fragrance was inside the adobe rooms!
What a fragrance from the afternoon rain!
What a fragrance in the wattle and daub!
It was three hours after the sorrow
that they came in their mourning cloaks.
One went towards the figure in the photo,
one to the gate
while you were behind the lace curtain…
And I was staring at your lips as I fell asleep.
‘What does the fire look like?’
one said,
‘the cold is the sadness!’
and you were behind the lace.
And my dream tasted like a flower
and my dream smelled of earth walls
and my dream looked like an apple of crimson fire
and my dream…
but I was roused from it by a call to prayer
and I woke in the afternoon rain.
