after Saint Amun
The night we were married I said,
"Not tonight, darling--actually,
not ever, is that all right?"
Our namesakes, carved in the limestone walls
of the pyramids, groaned. The three-ton blocks shuddered
as they rubbed the grit from their divine eyes,
and outside the night sky opened to blackness.
"Fine," said my beloved. "Fine with me."
The dunes rippled like bedsheets
shaken by our strong-armed maid.
The villages at the edges of the Sahara rocked
in a clap of thunder,
then all was still.
Eighteen years and I packed a bag for Nitria.
Desert winds rose great monsters out of the sand,
and my beloved filled our house with women.
I turned at the door. A beetle lit on the gate.
"God is with us," I said in farewell.
"God's with us."
