Renunciation

“The Sailor cannot see the North—but knows the Needle can—” The books were all torn apart, sliced along the spines Light filled all the openings that she in her silence renounced Still: her handwriting on the papers remembered us to her The careful matching of the papers’ edges was a road back One night Muhummad was borne aloft by a winged horse Taken from the Near Mosque to the Far Mosque Each book likens itself to lichen, stitching softly to tree trunks, to rocks what was given into the Prophet’s ears that night: A changing of directions—now all the scattered tribes must pray: Wonder well foundry, well sunborn, sundered and sound here Well you be found here, foundered and found