A midsummer sun sets behind a mosque, dissolving the leaves of an apple tree, and I am threaded like a needle. Life has flooded the aperture of my heart that beats like a window in the vault of heaven.
The loudspeaker prayer of the muezzin mingles with the amplified ads in the bazaar.
Mourning doves flute over corrugated rooftops.
The sky is a flapping bedsheet on the line.
As through a sieve being comes, reduced to its finer particles.