The voice that echoes in the courtyard
sounds very different to mine.
Notes of a distant recitation blend
with the trails of my morning smoke.
A face with a beard and a smile
emerges from the shade behind a door.
We exchange greetings in a language
that is foreign to us both.
Soon after a woman and a child
follow with this very human ritual.
It seems to me that all mornings should
begin with such good wishes.