The moonlight is more beautiful than silk
Flowing over the ramparts
When I pull the curtains back.
Moving to the rhythms of a soft
Parade, the women emerge disrobed
From their doorways as I weep
Locked in a room with no chair.
To defy the curfew, the bride
Of the city appears in my dreams.
She is dressed in black.
After two days of rain
A powdery blue mist erases the solids.
Eventually the weeping goes away.
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