How many miles of cradles lie
            between the Dead
            Sea of our salty Evil
            and Jordanian eyes?

            To mete out its innocence,
            I pluck an eyebrow
            and lay it on a shellacked
            plaque crucifixion.

            Ramadan claimed a life
            Before the dawn died
            at my high school. Her soul
            swallowed a purple oleander

            Drowned under an olive tree
            Her heart faced the sun.

            Fakirs long rattled
            their sabers hardly numb
            bequeath Nadir's soul
            to a plum grove

            frozen above the Holy land of Algiers.

            Its limbs bear dark offerings,
            coffins and tithing doves black
            with dynamite strapped
            to their worm-filled beaks
            that barely move.


Copyright © Juli A.Kroll, 2002.  All Rights Reserved.