Youssef of the Bekaa

I have a daughter
Up in the mountains you see
I didn’t want her
She only guesses at me

She goes about her days
Gathers bundles of sticks
Straightens the fall of her skirt
“Men, well they’re just dicks.”

I am told
She bathes the fire in her own light

While the thousand clouds
Trot like donkeys over her head.

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