The autumn | America Journal

(for Ibrahim)

Even birds understand how magnificence
begins on the
           tiny suture between two wings.

However they know nothing about
this fall. We
           slid our our bodies down the dune,

the world crumpling into mud
beneath our
           skins. How wildly holy we have been,

you and I, sightseeing past
this crucifix
           delicate on my chest and the almond-

formedtasbih drooping from yours.
Now, vastness
           shadows what stays on these

sidewalks every time we unlearned
the acquainted route
           to high school, sang “baami” to tease

the ladies, or basined a stray sheep
           a farmland devoured by brushfire.

At fourteen, I recall my father
gripping a boy
           attempting to show him the origin

of names. AbrahamandIbrahim–
my father says,
           can’t you seethere are too many

war-torn international locations between
each names?

           So, I mistake your glint. I mistake

my pal for a gun, and he
affords to smuggle
           me out of hurt. And that is the place

the autumn begins, you and I
tumbling from all
           that peak, an vacancy forming

proper on the spot
the place two shoulders as soon as merged as one.