I dreamed you in your black concert dress,
standing on the shore of the Tigris River
with your violin.
You played the immaculate motive of crows,
the exquisite lust of desert rain.
The ten sisters of dawn
and a mute troubadour
sang for you.
I was dancing with three moonstruck sheep dogs.
The sun shouldered the eastern horizon,
but the stars refused to fade.
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