It always rains here. Drip, drip, drip

Down the window, the sky bursting

Into floods of tepid tears, a constant downpour

And yet, the sun still shines. Around midday-moon,

Rainbows cross-cross in the sky, impossible highways

Although hard to admire through the brightness,

Residents blink the water from their eyelashes

And hold webbed hands up to block the shine.

The markets are bustling, merchants hawking

Piles of fleshy fruit, shades of purple and blue

Served with sun-baked bread laced with syrup

Half-plunged into warm bowls of liquid gold.

They come from all over, the merchants.

All different, many eyed, many scaled, horned, tails

Flapping in the day-moon light. That one,

Half-hidden behind a cloud of sweet incense-

The plump one- round-cheeked, booming a welcome

The warm voice flogging fishnet coats and silky shoes.

The hour of hibernation falls. The air cools

On the marble terrace, where they all flock.

Long stretches of colorful fabric wind,

Tangle, and trail as greetings are spilled

As well as the drinks. Sugary saffron-brine

And droplets of dew, lingers, tasted on the lips,

Of lovers, who cradle one another’s spongy skin

Brushing damp hair out of eyes. The sighs of sleep

Fall upon the children after a day of delight.

The purple-eyed girl with jade-porcelain skin

Puts out a flameless candle, and sleeps, dreams

Of somewhere fast, a thrill, of cities and cars

And curses the mundane bore of home.