and then our exile

i am moved by fancies that are curled around these images, and cling
: of Preludes, and thanks to James. Also for his long letter.

Haven't written for a while. Arrive here, a chorus of silence against the onrush of the grains of sand, muted calls against silence, screenplays of shadows while '[i] dozed, and watched the night revealing / the thousand sordid images of which [my] soul was constituted / they flickered against the ceiling': Ramadan is over.

Every year this day brings sorrow, but the blood pounding in my ears renders the ache acute.

What i said before, of being disappointed in the experience of this month in this land, was hollow, empty.

i don't really know what to say now. Trying to force words.

all i really need
is a du'a in my heart
du'a from my belly
and du'a from my family
(...sorry Raffi.)