He holds the arms of the fever,
the wrath of the water,
and their bodies are enlarged with dreams.
They are the bodies of crushed marble,
gold, amber bone extraction,
the raw materials behind the Hereafter,
when the Nile remained in the luster of Lebanon.
A gem of her old light
softens the tongue of its severity.
And he, the only poet in the night sky
kisses her collapsed face
to taste tomorrow binding.
© 2019 Stellular Scribe