today i held a book of rumi
in translation from arabic
and fell headfirst into a mosque
at noon I imagined a phoenix,
a mosaic of irregular canvas
cement and such a solar color
with 'apocalypse wave' in the tail...
but the feathers
disintegrated into seasons
and 'house on the hill'
and 'i remember the road' are there
so small at the tips you can barely tell
in the sideways sun
one of the more random rounded showed
the mind of the mind choking on sand
and the movie spread to the other pieces
corroding the reds
the oranges bled
and the yellows--dust to the dusk wind, but
'I remember the road' persisted,
away...
an excavation awaits.
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