Night goes back to where it was.
Everyone returns home sometime.

Night, when you get there,
tell them how I love you.



Night comes so people can sleep like fish
in black water. Then day.

Some people pick up their tools.
Others become the making itself.



A voice inside both of us sings out
a few lines from Khusraw, a stanza from Shirin.

At times a calm voice excites us.
Other times excited words make us quiet.



The morning wind spreads its fresh smell.
We must get up and take that in,
that wind that lets us live.
Breathe, before it’s gone.