The sand is wet
from the forgotten rain
that poured over the streets
and shop corners last night.
I may have been sleeping
Otherwise, I would have known.

The wind cut its own throat
left a trail of torn limbs and bodies
strewn on the street that leads to
the dead side of the town
where no one knows the other.
I may have been deaf
Otherwise, I would have heard.

Men sat in circles
On rusted iron chairs
Around a coffee pot
pouring steaming coffee
from the kettle into the cups
filling and refilling again
not looking at each other
eyes fixed on the empty night sky
where the wheel of destiny
appeared in the Eastern sky.
I may have been in a nightmare
Otherwise, I would have looked.

My footprints leave a trail
of blood stains on
pure white sand
soaked in moonlight
to which the dew drops cling
in a desperate last embrace
like a dead man’s shoe.
I may have been blind
Otherwise, I would have seen.

Everything happens at night
while I am asleep
while I am deaf
while I am blind.