Hadi Atallah

There is no note of sacrifice in a voice 

that brings on singing spells. 

And the night seems a little less dark, 

and to the West, there is a lightning in the sky. 

It throws a hard shadow into the mountain cleft. 

And the sleepers stir in their bed and awaken. 

Ochre yellow concentration aimed deliberately 

and fired. Late in the golden afternoon. 

Crusted with dried blood from human experience. 

We stand side by side watching a glorious place 

for a long time. The lights on its surface 

are red, orange and lovely.

…Only the good remain.