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