Infant Martyr

Since the night of shooting stars, the night of travail,

the call to prayer calms me. Some people chant,

“Hale Loya.”

It was the last supper and the birth

of a certain death.

My silicone

was oxidized with love.

I was born from a pairing of the dust of Al-Jalil

and the waters of Euphrates and became

the infant martyr.

From the collection Bleeding Gull: Look Feel Fly