Beirut to Amman

 Try as I like
I cannot leave you
I cannot find you
I run through ruby-beige sand
I pray to the hot desert sun
whispering your name.

I get lost in the streets of Amman
I get lost in the language of other lives
I stroll through ancient ally ways,
sipping hot, sweet tea
lightly touching the scarves of many colors,
slipping through my hands, blowing from
my hair.

A Warrior's Battle, you never had a chance
shrouded there in peace among the gun fire
and bombs.

I dream of our final meeting
when death takes me from this place
our embrace, red wine and Egyptian cotton,
we meet again.