a turn first, then another: a green meaning
to go, to move, to leave dabouq and drive
back into the city.                

 

i roll my window down and witness
the present carry on like birds
beyond the blurring.

 

in the passenger’s seat i gather the sounds,
swell of an adhan, arrival of dawn, muffled
bass of a radio rushing past.

 

i’m training myself to take note of stillness,
measuring every distance we cover in song.

 

tonight, our choice: amr diab. to my left,
a man loses himself in the music. in arabic,
we call this tarab.               

​

       his one hand      
on the wheel, the other,
the breeze between us.       

 

tell tale signs, same turn
of the heart.