From a Medieval Central Asian Priest’s Son to An Imam’s Daughter

by

In the beginning was the word and every word was you

As love turned flesh among us and reality came true.

Eternity burst open like a sinner’s door to heaven.

Our hands became the blasphemy of lovers, and reached through.

My hand became a crown above the promise of your head.

I love you and a night’s enough to tell you that I do.

If you don’t come tonight, may God forsake me like a father,

Sharpen the sickle moon into a blade, and run me through.

Come now. If not, a priest’s son will find gear enough for travel.

Whatever road of rock I walk, my heart will be my shoe.

A.Z. Foreman

A. Z. Foreman is a poet and translator pursuing a doctorate in Near Eastern Languages at the Ohio State University. His work has appeared in ANMLY, the Los Angeles Review, Asymptote, Apricity, La Picioletta Barca, Metamorphoses and elsewhere including two people's tattoos. Most importantly, if you have a dog he'd love to pet it.