every face encountered

the same question

about places I have been to

only the heart answers

the mouth is feeble, but

what is in the heart fills the granary

with dreamy faces, incredulity

they pose more questions of wonder

asking again about where I have journeyed

I answer promptly:

I was in the land of silent echoes

in the sands of the ancient Timbouctou

they shake their heads like bulls

laughing in mockery as they drink:

    such places are only of fiction

I bow my head

consoling my heart with soothing words:

    the blessing in the heart is mine