WHITE TENT

The galloping horse Is brought to a halt In front of the white tent Low song like moon- Light seeps through Its coarse, humble fabric Triumphantly The steed snorts Inside The girl fills the vessel Cememonially With lukewarm milk tea Skimming its shinny surface With great care Then she lets down Her perfectly braided hair By the sheep oil lamp Untangled Like a first smile Outside The light is washing over the plateau She doesn’t ask How far he has traveled On that worn out saddle Or how his fragrance Is so different from her own Unhurried, he unties the spurs Hands her the sword Which she caresses in the partial light She has waited for so many moons With the bowl of sweet drink To quench a stranger’s thirst . . . . Love will grow In seeds pregant with sun Long after the night matures In the expanding darkness The song goes on And on and On ---LTG, 2004 after hearing a legend from a friend