Al-Quds: 3 A.M by Mark Johnson

It takes some time

As spinning Earth slips

The Solstice knot

For the days to

Lengthen the nights

Lighten the wobble

Of the top to soften

So too when turbulence

Disrupts the tribes

An equilibrium of trust

Is slow to reassert

Its hold and scarcity

Loosen its awkward

Grip abundance win

Once more sister hope

And the tent flap open

To the stranger’s need

For hospitality not greed.

If the desert’s crossed

Without a star studded

Map of oases anchoring

Respite caravansary

The sand will slowly bury

The telltale treasure seed

And only bones remain

For some future trowel and

What might have been

To whisper in men’s dreams.

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