A Tale From A Bestiary Found In A Bazaar
In dreams I was a traveller
in a stone city in the east.
I went up wooden stairs to my room in an inn,
sat in a chair by a window.
The night was quiet, with no moon or star.
Its pages lit by a lamp,
I read a tale from a Bestiary
found in a bazaar.
“It’s jewels not books, people want,”
said the stall trader.
Was not interested to haggle much over the price.
Bought it with four bronze and one silver coin.
My hands rested on it in a basket,
crammed with bracelets, sculptures and pots.
Absorbed by its pictures and prose, I was happy there.
When I woke, my head was warm on my pillow.
I’d rather be here than anywhere.