Babylon

Green falls and drapes bright washed walls cut and shaped from the bone of the earth. A bas-relief nightshade the cover.

Beneath the folds, her cedar eyes pierce the burst of evening blue and red and look upon the North Palace. What grows here in this garden nourished by the grey-water. Sweet and dusty fragrance. Winged beasts dance between long end of day shadows thrown off date palm. Brushstrokes of muted bloom and fruit fleeing from the balconies and descending warm stone stairs. Olive, fig, and grape from the other lands not shaped by wind and sand. How the garden breathes in the sun and out the hopes and dreams.

And she looked upon her creation, cedar eyes beneath the folds, and wry wrinkles came at the corners, pleased with what she had sewn.