Salt

To the salt, sprinkled with rain, on her door


In the winter nursery,
While Alexandria's mouth was full to the brim with brandy,
I opened my chest and slumbered
Coldness clasped my heart
Seeing the winter at the beginning of the street,
I turned my face away
I hid the jolt in a crisscross shirt
I was afraid to meet it alone with my shyness
On the wet rolling paper,
I wrote your telephone number
But now I have scrabbled a sun
Strong enough to dry up "Fouad Street"
So that I can say "Good morning" to the pain
And remember the first scandal
I hid from my rudeness
And I got onto weeping
Ooh! Alexandria is not for free
Her bite leads to the sea
And you are all dupes
Leaving me crying in Cavafy's House
Before the waiters,
Bales of cotton in El-Abbari,
The hall of auction in El-Attarin,
Her house
And the attic closed on smoke

How shall I believe all that alone?!