Bedouin Dreams

Palms fly by silently in the night.

Oases of light in the black desert.

Thoughts travel at the speed of darkness.

They crowd the car, clamoring for attention.

But most are soon forgotten.

The seams of concrete thump the tires Like metronome ticking On a piano long quiet.

Dreams dense and Bedouin hurl themselves

Like accusations, like rocks, against half-open windows.

I slow into the volume of the humid night.

Steal a swallow of tepid water To gird my waning vigilance And try to see beyond your face.