Zulaikha’s Overture  

Sorcery exists, of course it does. Whatever happened

to risk? In the chasm of autumn—the moon engorged— 

this loneliness is as much a part of you as your appetite. 

Where is the perfect object that will substantiate

our existence? The tulip is an icon for martyrdom, 

associated with the blood of lovers shed in the pursuit 

for the Assembler of Scattered Creations, which is to say— 

The Ultimate. I can’t help but desire holy men. I want

your mouth, Yusuf, your half of all beauty. Welcome to my house

of rapture. This is not an encounter, but it is one. 

Won’t you join me for a walk outside the body? We can make 

our own hierarchy of forms—velvet fawn, dove nest, 

lamplight—a tiny sound in darkness that is very loud. Please

be dangerous—union is a colloquial, quotidian activity. 

Are you not tired of sleeplessness? Interpretation 

only alienates. We will soon be possessed by light.