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  Nights of Morocco  
 

Sliding down on the sand
Of the shifting shore of the desert,
The cleansing grittiness
Isn't half as harsh as the war
That brought me here.
The Sahara displays the night
As though everything were crystal clear.

 

"Valeska is the moon over Morocco
The same moonfor everyone?"
  I lick the envelope
And hold it up toward the sky
With both hands.
A wailing wind rips it from my grasp
And carries it airmail
To the States.
   
   
   
       
       
       
       
 
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