Of Karak

From the column, the grit folds way
and falls from Saladin to sand
the dust of more desperate eras.

Of Karak, the gnarl of rock and favor
between Jerusalem and Mecca
lay film across a wasted earth.

A request: from castle arches to Romanesque,
olive presses, "Know that I happened."
But we all ask that request
of people once ours
and ones we forgot
and strongly some we'll never meet.

In the market stalls,
we're handed tea
and told about heaven.

They hold a flame to our arms
a forerunner of our fate
the fate of non-believers.

In all small places,
heaven is the sole request.