We sit in this courtyard, two forms, shadow outlines with one soul.
Birdsound, leaf moving, early evening star, fragrant damp, and a sweet sickle curve of moon.
You and I in a round, unselved idling
in the garden-beauty detail.
The raucous parrots laugh, and we laugh inside their laughter, the two of us on a bench in Konya, yet amazingly in Khorasan and Iraq as well.
Friends abiding this form, yet also in another, outside of time, you and I.