Night Falls

Night readies himself, brushes back twilight,
buttons up fog in mother of pearl, seven holes, Solomon
casts a sable cloak round his neck,
loosens whispers of shadows,
who skulk black alleys of latitude.

He takes a swig of moonshine (Mongols howl going down)
and trips over his imagination
into the Himalayas,
Kathmandu rises in chaos as if water ran uphill.

He dances drunk
drums conjured within purdah, set free in
Jaipur Jalapur Nagpur Jodhpur
hash dens concealed behind Indian nights

Aiii ya Aiii ya
his windpipe hails tribes of Arabian nomads
screeching atop camels to Aqaba, indigo nights

Aiii ya Aiii ya
sandstorms lacerate his shoulders,
shrouded by the Sahara
bahr bela ma
a swig of moonshine (warm ripples of sandsheets, waves of dunes)

in Senegal hung under an acacia tree,
velvet leaves his imagination
Night falls, desert sun.

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(warm ripples of sandsheets, waves of dunes -National Geographic article March 1999)