That winter,
Following the pipelines, we flew south
From Nineveh. Oilwells, domes,
Flashes of silver
Betokening wealth, prayer, were all
That gave clues to the usurped
Nature of the desert, a handful
Of oases, ringworms
Of green. At intervals camels
Plodded below us, footprints
Like sponges. Then, twin rivers,
Tigris, Euphrates,
The colour of thermometers. Flying over it
The Gulf had a kind of innocence,
Its marshes euphoric with birds.
No comments:
Post a comment