Spread at my feet
The dirty sheet
Of this city
Sun-drenched
and
Infinitely gray.
Two bicycles on the balcony
Face away from each other
Having lost their purpose
Two pigeons
Dirty and fat
Clean one another
then
Glide,
Together,
Above the smog.
Is it better to sit
Motion-less and
Still:
Two bicycles stuck
On a balcony?
Or to fly,
Above the line
Where the gray of the city
Meets the sun-faded
Blue of the sky?
Tehran, June 2004
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