The Noon Prayer.

Layered morning gone,
all gone regarding
the field beyond 
the window.

The grass leaves 
twist and bow,
a grand procession 
holding flashing 
white candles
across the 
liquid field,
incited by 
the wind.

And the layers 
lay over and over…

Hear the whisper 
of the wind
over the field?
It transcends
and to me is Azan
voiced from the 
tallest minaret,
as this field is 
now a Mosque,
at the centre the Kaaba.
Now, each frond,
clockwise encircling, 
is a green
wrapped woman in
sequinned abaya,
only their brown eyes
smiling back through
the discretion of her Niqab,
each ready for prayer.
Their sevenfold bow 
is procession in faith,
their sequins flickering
like their candles
flickering on the 
pathway to God.