this is town

for ashraf, welcome home

he said it rains mud here -
the water of the earth
mixing with the dust of war.

the traffic is bad, he said,
because the bridges have all
been bombed and broken

and yet, they live on
at book fairs and cafes
on corners of half ruined streets.

he said to me, his eyes
washed with knowing, they
believe war will come again

and yet, they keep on living.