I have found their recordings &

I have listened to Oum Kalsoum sing of her lost loves

I have listened to Cheikha Remitti too, sing of lovers, who even long ago, couldn't get it right

I have listened to Biyouna, who is still here somewhere in the same Paris I am in, singing in French & Arabic, her own songs of Paris

I am waiting to listen to the Greek Tsitsanis, all "The Prewar Recordings — 1936-1940" my childhood years.

We have both come a long way,

I want to hear his oud again but

I am waiting & it gets late in the night,

my bottle of 2007 Corbieres is very drinkable, more than half gone & disappearing fast.

The rain has stopped & traffic on blvd Voltaire still moves, though not so noisily below these dark windows.

There are even quiet times now, with no car sounds, & no voices make it up the 113 hardwood steps with no elevator

I've never been in those North African lands but have found sand in my tea.

Tonight I'm hoping for the stars.

Hard to see them through the clouds,

like looking for true love, you have to have more than a little luck.

I know they're out there, the stars, shining bright,

I expect they'll shine.

Just as I expect sand in my tea.

I imagine dark-skinned beauties dancing in firelight, their shadows thrown up on the tentwalls

I'm surrounded by their singing, even as rains come again, wet the now very quiet streets six floors below.

When I finally listen to Tsitsanis I won't know where I am.

I could be anywhere, listening so long after the fact.

I can only hope the girls will still be dancing.

15 Oct 08 for Paul Kahn & Ed Dorn