- To Guide in Agadir
We are surrounded. Stopped by a crowd prayer mats slung over shoulders. There is conversation the beaches the weekend market for lemons milk.
A crippled man has fallen. Is pulled up by men in jellabas younger. Their mats tossed to gravel to that side of road avoided.
A ruler refuses renouncement even though bombs crater. We understand delusion in secret in cold rooms where storm-petrels are audible. The morning a sliced pear bread where honey forms a web.
This is how we live. Blasts in chests without visibility. A village where sheep lick shepherds to nasturtiums.
Who guides whom to slaughter? [End Page 239]
Myronn Hardy is author of three collections of poems: Approaching the Center, The Headless Saints, and Catastrophic Bliss, winner of the Griot-Stadler Prize for Poetry. He divides his time between Morocco and New York City.