Taif | الطائف
Grey-haired apes latch onto mountain-
tops, climb through tenacious fog.
Out-of-season Ferris wheels push through
ancient stone in tangerine, fuchsia:
here, a strange garden
blooms before Taif.
Lofty rosa damascena permeate
through thick-bellied clouds,
we pass through mountain veil,
to roadside fruit market, rosewater distillery:
heavy pomegranates wait by silken peaches,
clusters of the blackest grapes billow in between.
Mango syrup leaks from mouth-corners;
my daughter’s chin is fragrant, gold.