A dream of if
Fountains play in cool courtyards,
the call of exotic birds,
sand caught in the folds of bright cloth
hangings, blowing in hot winds,
a horse galloping,
hooves raising yellow dust,
red leather bridle, silver bells,
and I ‘d drink the desert dry,
all the shimmering waters of Arabia,
if it would wash the past clean.
2 thoughts on “A dream of if”
If is a game that has no ending. (K)
Yes. It’s probably a mistake to get involved in it at all.