He told me a story, the Shami.

He didn’t speak to me before, but only hinted at it somehow.

He told me about Mesopotamia, somewhere between copper country and Kuwait.

But wait, were you born out in the mountains, only to go to the seashore?

There are channels that must be explored as we’re learning.

He had a burning from early on, it pushed him to starlight.

He’d lay back on cool ground looking out at her then, so far out into darkness, where she was some luminous orb singing sweetly as he breathed in these green gardens of goodness.

I haven’t properly described it.

My hunger is not yet sufficient.

To know, we must burn.

I tighten my belt and move onward.

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