DAY 7

By midnight you are one with the sky. By dawn, the promise fulfilled, I lead you away, back to your time, your history, your senses. You are only a woman sponging your thighs, humming softly. You, outcast, condemned to the sand, the well, the wadi. And in your face that other face, the face of the child who dreamed of the woman you never were.         Startled, evanescent, opulent.   You came one day, without warning, silent alone. You accepted my aid, my trust, eating my food, drinking my water. Frightened at first, no doubt you were frightened, you said little. And when I asked of your home, your village, you spat in the sand and shook with hatred.      One night you dug a pit in the sand and vomited blood, thick clotted blood that tore through your throat with all the vehemence of the words you refused. Then you lay back, your lips caked red, and you pulled off your skirt and ripped your flesh, snorting like a

horse in labor.      And when I pushed into you, your scream crackled through my skull.      Now we wander about each other, hunters hypnotized by the bounty of the prey.      Passion is our hindsight, pain our expectation.   You came one day, silent, alone ...