Baghdad
This city was not a matter for men,
But its river was, as were those who therein dwelt
Much to the surprise of its waters.
If cobalt were the purest of colors,
The Tigris would be not the river of purity,
But the form of purity racing to the sea,
There where it dissolves among
Shipwrecks and algae,
And the great bull whales
That swim southward should the world of man
End there,
There where dawn, no longer part of the night,
Is born.
The emperor thus knows
That in his birth there was a river,
A dream of sweet waters
