forty days (in the cup of my hands)

did you walk

your forty days

was the desert
dry
did the sand blow
stings
and whispers

your camels
did they know
the dunes they crossed

did they bawl
and bray
as though all reason
was awry

perhaps
they knew
me
first

for I held you
forty dirty days
and I held you
forty drying nights

I held
I
carried you

all

nestled
in the cup
of my hands

do not bawl
at me
and do not bray

only
the camel
who knew me
before you did
will I tolerate

~

5 thoughts on “forty days (in the cup of my hands)

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