In a dusty city

She tipped a glass of water
Cold, clear water
To her lips
And drank.

She wiped the stray droplets
Like a child from her mouth
With the back of her hand
And he pitied the moisture rubbed away
Envied the draught
that now nourished her within.

She smiled and thanked
Him – just a shopkeeper
He was and she a stranger
A traveler passing
A beautiful traveler bravely alone.

He took back the glass
And kissed to his lips
where hers had just pressed
She smiled softly to see it.

She spoke a strange language
Sweet, soft like a bird’s call
He brought her warm yoghurt
and a dish of couscous
seasoned with lamb

She ate and he knew that
She’d hungered quite long
Like a young lion she devoured it
And licked her fingers when done

He brought in a basin
Warm rose water and cloth
And she protested but a moment
As he undid her sandals
And washed the dust from her feet
And then like a pilgrim he kissed them.

And she saw tears in his eyes
And wondered what brought them
But she felt no fear with him
Nothing but peace.

She awoke hours later
In the dark of his shop
Her hands flew to her robe
Had he – no, certainly not!

But he’d laid her on a heaven-soft rug
Surely a priceless treasure from Persia’s own looms
And drawn over her a piece of the finest of silk
And left her to sleep while he reposed chastely
somewhere else in his place.