هزار و یک شب

a thousand, that’s a good number
of nights
in the bottom of the moon
where monsters sleep
and it rains between buildings
like prayers humming in the gutters
idols multiplying
until their abundance
leaves you alone
awake
recalling a sutra
something about refuge
or forgiveness

i’d have to say a candle
if i could only have one thing
or muscles
that knew how to levitate
by clutching a cloud
one side drifting through the cosmos
the other mingled with tree roots
anchors and dynamite

counting
has worn out
its utility
Shams took apart the abacus
in Tabriz

l'a-r0