Issue Twenty-Two - Summer 2013

The Thief

By Maya Borhani

When I stepped out
into the purpled night air
even the rain smelled like you,

harvest of flowers, citrus,
sadness spiced with hard-earned salt.
A prayer of dusky cinnamon.

How is it
you carry
the gardens of Lebanon

in your tousled, refugee
hair? The scent of you
under an unfaithful moon

disarms me,
the rain washed world
a blanket of storied scent

blown roses, dripping cedar boughs,
bite of lemons
and you

moving through the marketplace
half a world away
across town

without me.

Copyright Borhani 2013

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