DANIEL MOORE (Abd al-Hayy)


2 Ramadan



 And we're beaten on the ground of our
  own physical being
 like someone taking the
  end of a plank and
    beating it in a rock,

 we're beaten on the earth by our own
 earthiness of being born, we're

 beaten against the curved sides of
 Father Noah's boat, against the
 prison where beautiful
 Joseph languished, against the
 stake Abraham was tied to, against the
 Ka'ba where the
 blackened stone of light is kissed as we
 swiftly pass by it to melt
 back into the circling herd of
     similar hungry selves, beaten
 like old clothes, washed in the
 downstream and then
 stamped on by our

 own feet which have
   Adam's indelible imprint. The

 fast beats us with our own
   slaves on the
     hard rock of
        physicality, it

 takes us to the edge and makes us
 look down,

 it takes us to where there is
 no escape and closes in, it

 is the release of no release on a
 day that does

 even an eagle leaps into
 no sure space,
 hovers on an updraft
 searching for food.

 Hunger finally
 ends. But so does

 relief from