Warm desert breath
Slithered serpentine
Through the resinous nicotine tar
Of the Azerbaijan night.
The breeze weaved itself
Inbetween the shadows
Cast by the oil lamps
Hanging...
Like rattan for a basket
Or wool for a rug
Of which the region was renowned for.
The desert sent forth
The aroma
Of the city’s bazaar vendors
Packing up for the evening.
Ripe apricots, peaches, melons
Spices, herbs
And fresh sturgeon and caviar
Fragrant like a sheaf of flowers
Just picked
From a neighboring garden.
She
Moved with purpose
Unhurriedly
Upon the expensive carpet laid out
Just for her
On the rooftop
Of a wealthy patron’s home.
Her hips undulated
Beat for beat
To the rhythm played
By the four musicians
In the shadows off to the side.
The percussion of the tambourine
Rippled down her spine
While the others improvised
On the rebeck, rebab
And tar
In 6/8 signatures.
The dancer’s arms
Also moved like snakes
Replicating the warm breeze
In front of another group of men
Sitting on a gathering of silk pillows.
The men sat transfixed in a spell
Smoking from a jeweled hookah
And drinking from a shared bottle
Of raki.
Delightful details swam through them
Each one determined to offer her
A proposal of marriage.
Her skin
A mirror
Reflecting
The alabaster
Of the low lustrous cloudless moon
Illuminating
The nearby mosque
And the city surrounding them.
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