the fountain is vanishing under her
bas mama doesn’t move. she holds the stillness
in her palms, she pulls the tides and pours
the water in / out
she rinses the ibrik, sinks my head and hair
under, whispers how to walk softly in rising water,
to honor my disappearing country
in all of its holiness, in all of its loneliness

white stone made from ibrahim’s
hands, we collect clean earth until
it is dripping wet, red atoms in each grain
the universes melting into the shards of earth 

i have watched my people remake
all of the holy symbols, the olive trees
and the fig trees, their hands dirty
statues and tombs till the moon collapses  

no statue and tomb — they withstand till
their people dissolve in the disappearing country

i do not want to fall in bullet-holes, so i tell my lover
to navigate past the checkpoints until
he can drown me alive 

red sea, dead sea, tabriyya, does it matter which?
i ask my lover to drown me, i cannot
bear the loneliness, i cannot bear the holiness.  

a land of people, have we been stripped
into nothing but martyrs? take the religions,
i cannot remember what to bow to if not
the sea or the trees, shuf —

the map is spinning, we cannot make it past
all of the checkpoints habeebi, 

mama rests on the edge of the fountain
her finjan learns to stand in air against time,
they are vanishing under our palms
what is left for us now?