I get a satisfaction from doing this. Most of the time

it seems windy. Some days dust hangs in the air like 
orange fog which I want to rip apart. I stuff cotton into my

mouth, so I can breathe. My bed sags like a hammock. In my
room a nylon filament hisses & gives light. I'm gloomy 

until Marguerite and her husband join the expedition. French
Canadian, she mystifies me because of her small bones which
 
seem soft. The hems on her dresses hang like pure cotton. 
Engaged in following or waiting for her husband

she walks calmly through our courtyards. She is 
bilingual. I follow her, I want to reach into her mouth

for that candy. In all those months I remember only one word
a bead to break my teeth on. I know the Arabic for eggplant.