at
night,
with
its inexplicable charm
the
truth of the weak
is
silence stripped bare
fingertips
tracing the silk of self-deception
a
veil transparent to all but the wearer
fine
grains of clay
on
the hard walls of a mosque
deep
in my imagination
the
dust of oblivion
the
shimmer of illusion
your
skin is the silk,
the
veil I wear
by
night,
with
its inexplicable charm
October
13, 2001