Yellowing leaves droop outwards, begging,

Old men, double amputees, on wheeled carts,

The love of Allah on their lips,

So long ago; on the square,

Those bees in the mint tea;

The Kasbah in Tangier. That plant

Has been in water long enough, I said.

We should replant it; or throw it out.

The cutting’s roots had out-reached

Themselves at the bowl’s bottom,

Twisting as though in agony,

Calling for help