Photo by Vincentiu Solomon on  Unsplash

Halfway to Suhur

Halfway to suhur
the night opens its iwan a resonating chamber as
glorious to me as the throat of a frog is

to a frog who only differs from the
choir of mysterious harmonising
night creatures outside

by the scale in my head
grading it for beauty

Chambers play with pressure:
brick arches guide gravity
in rainbows to the ground

a singing throat
pushes tissue out

diaphragm presses up
condensing air

so movement depends on

just as guilt moves
furtively, back hunched

and hunger scurries or lumbers

while longing cuts back
the long grass obfuscating
heart’s desire

chest pressurised by fear
of being lost

Through the
fields of panic

a warm face shines
glad that you were looking but now

a hand touches your arm
a voice murmurs

it’s not what you’re looking for
but how you’re looking  

like the baking tray
invisible when frantically sought

shining on the sink when
calmly strolled by

Nothing is as it looks
but you are as you look for it

so sharpen your sight,
myopic one!

Press the hand that squeezes
coal to diamond against your chest

and let the longing of
what you seek

do the rest