TANBUR

Eighth notes, sixteenth notes, thirty-second notes,

the tanbur’s strokes more urgent on your forehead

than the murmurs of Euphrates poplars.

This falling snow’s been falling three months.

The sway of camel bells wakes the desert’s longing.

You’re an endless path. I’m a steady window.

You’re near but not in my direction.

Some hour may await us, tomorrow or in dreams.

The tanbur travels slow but journeys far.

Thirty-second notes, sixteenth notes, eighth notes.

I’m a steady window. You’re an endless path.