Fly Emirates, read the perimeter ads
at the World Cup match,
& I try to picture those fabled lands:
what rare seasoning, what iridescent treasure
must glisten on that far shore
like the shoulder of an ox,
rising over the curve
of what we’ll call the earth.
Transparent sails in the harbor.
Travelers rubbing lotion into their palms.
I can already hear the buzz of trumpets
that must herald every entrance
of their emirs.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.