Tehran I She smiled and spoke softly of Tehran and her family, of her uncle who left to buy bread, never to return home again.

I heard a short poem, long ago, half dreaming, in class, it went something like: “If you didn't prepare with sport, your arms as stone,

One pair of eyes One window open Will the song lost in the wind Ever find our house? One town of walls One shadow Silent,

The distant amicable lights are all dimmed And my lover's gentle coo has turned to snore It is so dark! Curtain, the distance between me