2 Poems

By MICHAEL CAYLO-BARADI

Towards Algiers

 

The desert scatters

on our feet. It’s the only

 

surrender that counts,

vast, unobstructed.

Winds forge directions

for us, where

 

suns thirst

restless salaats.

 

Moons huddle

a glimmering city

 

in your eyes.

They curve down

 

your neck, down

to mine, as shadows

 

hold the arcs

of its light.

Tangier – Morocco 2008

Unveiled in Tangier

 

Finally, we gave in.

At least, for now.

 

Souks, alleys, and tunnels

guided us there,

 

through muezzins

flooding

 

the Strait of Gibraltar.

Your gestures

 

stretched the sun,

loud as minarets.

 

Floors tiled patterns,

rising on walls,

 

prayers, and

premonitions.

 

Moonlights, too,

had been squared out.

 

Their curves could

bind whispers,

 

in moments

gasping for God.

 

Michael Caylo-Baradi’s work has appeared in The Common, Metazen, MiPOesias, Munyori, PopMatters, Prick of the Spindle, The Los Angeles Daily News, Our Own Voice, and elsewhere. 

Photos by flickr creative commons users Maurice Michael and Primeroz

2 Poems

Related Posts

The Bee-Eaters

GEORGINA PARFITT
The teeth of the excavator are wet. The cage opens, hovers, and grips a mouthful—some floor, some outer wall, some window frame, the glass disappearing with a tiny, tinkling sound.

A White House against a blue sky, with a watertower on top.

Two Poems by Liza Katz Duncan

LIZA KATZ DUNCAN
First the marsh grass came, then the motherwort, / then bitterberry and honeysuckle. Blackbirds, / gulls and grackles built their nests. / Mourning doves call from the eaves / of the old factory, closed during the Depression.

person with an orange bag walking through the dirt paths in a sun-spotted forest

Into the Woods

ANNE P. BEATTY
A mile into the woods, I am always slightly afraid. Fear’s lace knots the cuff of an otherwise lovely afternoon. Nights, when I peek out of the tent, the moon is a bright friend too far away to help.