amid swirling sands
a sufiana, hands held high,
wheels and twirls
lost in dance.
or maybe, more truly found.
in a whirling blur
the barest flashes
of bronze skin
bleed through flowing white linen
as she spins around,
each revolution a prayer
which calls her closer
to the still point
found in the ornate, tiled
floor’s center.
on such sacred ground
even gods and demons
must bow
in adoration to devotion’s pure,
ecstatic gift.
and caught up in her bliss
my soul breathes —
unbound.
