An old man walks down the concrete steps
that flow down from the Mosque like a stream,
wearing a gray tunic with a benevolent hood
that shields his eyes, and curved shoes
that point to the noon sun.
People walked to prayer this morning,
carrying their mats and their worn books,
but you are the last one down.
You walked with your bare soles, polished
by red brick chalk to the straw mat
and sat with your eyes closed,
and did not hear those stepping around you.
Inside of the azure dome
did you forget your name?