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Paradise Gate
In Memoriam Mahmoud Darwish
Daniel Abdal-Hayy Moore

The exile dies and
finds he’s home
All lamented fig trees and
cups of pungent coffee
sweet steam in twists above them
All horses tied to fences
lonely without their donkeys
in long green pastures
All glimpses of far ocean
across the barbed wire of enemy territory
now held in a divinely vibrant wisp in the air
for a split second before dispersal
at lickety-split speed over the earth’s mirror
as the world’s top spins below
And the grieving exile opens his sapphire eyes
now polished to a precious sheen
on unforeseen landscapes not exactly
reassembled from the precise gazes in his
poems but partaking of certain
mosaic resemblances puzzled together
And also sees Paradise Gate open before him
and all his doubts and denials
now banished as brutally as he was
into inconsequential territories
afloat under fig trees
wrapped in fresh roasted
swirls of coffee
at home at last
among departed comrades