Disciple, Tangiers

that light kept me a year in its grip first
my feet caught fire then my blood
we moved at the edge of endlessness
headless handless mouthless mind-

less sand (the face of god) figs
a night on the rug with the merciless
stars in our mouths drank
brackish water the camel milk

learned gradual as the sea of sand learned
to relinquish again again to cut
piety away and drift like ash like this
land that can stand to vanish to rise

Nancy White lives in Cambridge, New York, and has taught writing for more than 25 years. Her first book, Sun, Moon, Salt, won the Washington Prize.

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Sojourners Magazine August 2009
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