← v4n2, Fall 2005Poetry · Volume 4, Number 2
Roulade
The rain’s roulade against the roof
will wake her, not the muezzin’s call
to prayer at dawn, though she was drawn
to it one night in our father’s village,
at her eye like a snowflake.
The rain’s roulade against the roof
will wake her, not the muezzin’s call
to prayer at dawn, though she was drawn
to it one night in our father’s village,
at her eye like a snowflake.