10/24/11 Abu Dhabi
Arab fall
The turns outside my window smell of money
How the work finds the the holders of the purse
Wherever it’s held
Covered features and firewalls
The moral fibers cover her sad smile
And her swollen middle
Just a different cloth a world away
Irrigation
The gardens in the desert
Sprouting concrete and glass, fertilized by gold
And the need to leave a lasting mark
In the swirling sand
Gold vested concierge
Cuts the line
The lesson of money talks but has no queue or signage
The words foreign for those in line with me
Far across the sky
Distance and the alien pry words from my jaw, my diminished chest
The silence leads to talking with the poet and his supernatural heart
He threatens to speak the incantations, the sputtered, the hard heard word
Heart heard, unfiltered, unafraid
We go where the work is, money is, love is, peace is
Those who don’t turn from the broken tap live empty
Drying fuel for engines who still can run
Farther, new money, new roads, old ways
Poets mutter and few listen, understanding just an option
For both, writer and listener
The act of striking out for answers reaps return,
The attempt to listen brings quiet, where true clues lie.
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