The call of the Muezzin pulls his spirit back to tether,
and his form sets a-sail to bathe the world in its ether
as the crowing roosters gather in their dirge to the night,
on libated altars glistened with the summons of the light.
The shadow gives to reset at the pop of God’s right eye,
and the ballad of the hustler rends its notes to the sky;
the atmosphere is charged with the buzz of breaths vibrating,
and the eye matches his steps to the thump of feet on earth.
At noon his shine is brightest, and there too his might is tested,
he works to draw the water from the trappings of the air,
he licks the mugs of mortals and etches their forms in dust;
the eye maintains his travail as his pivot measures time.
At dusk the eye has seen the Earth, at eve his bond is marked,
the eye desists as men recoop – the descent of the frenzy;
he takes a bow to blind the lights, he duffs his hat at them,
and as the night subdues the skies, the seas grant him repose.
