In a stepped town of white-walled housesIMG_1876
I tried to find peace inside myself
The rich carved doors were closed to me
The hand of Fatima did not reach out to greet me

Under my feet the cobbles were sharp and shiny brown
As I walked slowly around embracing hills
Wishing I could fly
Knowing I must fall

Safe for a while in the hilly cradle
I traced the lines of your face on the tiles
The arms that held me were gone so soon
and life must be traveled alone