While she was thinking of leaving
All the ice cubes melted in the bar's glasses.
I wrote on my hand so I don't forget:
"The city is a large waiting room..."
Passing Through
In every visible wall there is an invisible door,
pores unknown except by god
and entrances for poetry, revelation and souls
Close your eyes awhile
and imagine that all people have become poets
*It may happen that a kilogram of Arab bread is sold for ten poems by Ibn al-Rumi
Hotels of the ultimate
Roses that grew alone
Behind the house of the aged
The tiles of his eldest dreams