the wind. it hit me like the voice of a familiar friend,sending me back
to joys
long lost
past the memory of chili.
this place is music in the form
of spice
infiltrating the air
almost indistinguishable from dust
simmering in the sunlight
songs and thuds from taut
skins
laughter in the morning
bare feet
clapping
this place is music in the form
of prayer
praising the dawn
almost indistinguishable from birdsong
calling to life the wake
of children
sailing past fragrances
sweetly drifting
yellow boughs
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