You

Where do you lie?
Where do you not?
You are the hesitation in my step
The boldness in my raised head
The indented half moons on my palm when my nails dig in a shade too deep
The worry in my voice
The plaintive cry of the muezzin
The sky silhouetting the towers of the mosque
You are every bird that flies across that vast expanse
You are the call of the bird, dying into the evening sky
You swish between my toes as wanton waves
Sing in my blood and lift my senses
You are the half-formed thought of an early morning
The gush of a river as she crashes against rocks
The poetic sheen on a drop of dew
Everywhere I feel you
You run, always a step ahead of me
Always out of reach, yet tantalizingly close
Like a scream in the stillness of a mid-morning
A sudden moment of quiet in a crowded bazaar
The half-arrested gaze of strangers fearful of intimacy
When they ask me where you are
What shall I tell them, where shall I begin?
How shall I teach them to hear with the eyes, taste with their ears? What can I teach them what it is to feel beyond the senses?
And so they will condemn me to a life beneath other lives
They will call me insane, mad, a fool
But let them, I cannot bring myself to care
For every moment there is a moment lost from the pursuit of you
You who widen my eyes in a moment of surprise
You who fire my imagination
You who have no name
You.

– Cry of a madwoman

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