I feel like the ground,
astonished at what the atmosphere has brought to it.
What I know is growing inside me.
Rain makes every molecule pregnant with a mystery.
We groan with women in labor.
The ground cries out,
I Am Truth and Glory Is Here,
breaks open, and a camel is born out of it.
A branch falls from a tree,
and there’s a snake.
Muhammad said,
A faithful believer is a good camel,
always looking to its master,
who takes perfect care.
He brands the flank.
He sets out hay.
He binds the knees with reasonable rules,
and now he loosens all bindings
and lets his camel dance,
tearing the bridle and ripping the blankets.
The field itself sprouts new forms,
while the camel dances over them,
imaginary plants no one has thought of,
but all these new seeds,
no matter how they try, do not reveal the other sun.
They hide it.
Still, the effort is joy,
one by one
to keep uncovering pearls in oyster shells
