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I am a Muslim The rose is my Qebleh The spring my prayer-carpet The light, my prayer stone The field my prostrate place I take ablution with the heartbeat of windows Moon flows into my prayer, gently it flows The rock is visible from behind my prayer All particles of my prayer are illuminated I pray when the wind calls for prayer From the cypress tree’s minaret I practice my ritual when weeds say God is Greater When wave raises My Ka’ba is beside the brook My Ka’ba is beneath the acacia My Ka’ba is lid the breeze, blowing from garden to garden from one town to another town