the djinn met many men like you

it yawns from above, cristalline

air in its palm, another

pebble made from snow, put down

like a white stone on your path: nudge

the defection — not a new

name, but a cold one

there are those who deserve to be

touched, and those who may touch

and those that aren’t allowed neither

when the djinn beckons come hither

you shall smudge its copper-rimmed

eyes while it plucks

the dawn from your palm

thoughts are made on the tip

of fingers, so

grasp

those who no longer look

for solace shall receive it, a humming

desert and a melting

stone, refreshing desires, a djinn’s

hazy hand, to know the graze

thereof, and know

the grace thereof – men believe

with their bodies, faith has to be

felt in their bones, singe their skin, make

them tremble