A Winter Without Snow
A shamal blows in from the desert;
needs must, I stay indoors. Room-service
bring me a cheese sandwich, and a beer …
if I’m lucky and it’s not Ramadan.
Watch a camel graze on the Met’s
lush, well-watered trees – much
tended, rich green sward, and think
of my backyard at home.
Yearn for the changing seasons;
spring, summer, autumn …how
I miss them; most of all, winter.
Seasons here are almost non-existent.
Glance at my watch. Watch the sun
as it sets outside my window –
the whole year round, sometime
between six and seven.
I turn off the light; the darkling miles
between us, crumple and crease,
as mounding clouds of dust devour
the moon...the bark of a sand cat
rasps the silence of my room.
From a mosque, wafts, slow, on the air,
the plaintive call to prayer. I close
my eyes. Try to get my head around
a winter sans you and the sound
of falling snow.