Five Poems

In this land
I see my own reflected,
the women with their creels
of overweighing grass.

The poverty of rocks,
the broken houses,
a man leading a cow
past infertile thorns.

This could have been my country,
the black-skirted old women,
boys on bicycles
heading towards the dance.

An absence of roses,
a plethora of cactus,
resonance of psalms,
...