Poems from al-Andalus

Three Poems

ثلاث قصائد

In the tidy marina,
the tide is going out.
My last image of her
tugs at its mooring.

I pause on a slope
of the Alpujarras.
The wide sky can't
encompass my loss.

A hooded crow calls
two hours before fajr.
The engraver has come,
desperate for epitaphs.

First published in NOON: journal of the short poem.

Hooded crow