CAIRO TAXI
I don’t know your streets, Cairo
this Copt taxi driver
is haggling for 10 Egyptian pounds
to transfer me from the Pyramidas Hotel
to the Khan el-Khalili Bazaar
under the rear-view mirror a chain hangs
St. George slaying the dragon
there is no glass on the door
the night smells of burning waste
the dust of the desert has laid in the nostrils
on the windshield
the lights from the Nile are shining on my face
the world roars under the bridge
noise from the mosque
shopping streets are the new temples
full of believers with nylon bags
in the dark the taxi breaks through
the transistor screams
the Copt shows me his left arm at the pulse
his tattooed cross is there
he plays along with the trumpet, sings in a hoarse voice
looks in the rear-view mirror smeared with dust
“What country might you be from?” he thinks
an hour before in the hotel room I perfumed myself
with Nefer-i-iti perfume oil
which now erupts from the ear
along with all the amber, mother-of-pearl, lapis lazuli
malachites and amethysts
as if I have lead earrings
I turn here and there
the night sounds of the crowd squeals
trading, mixing
in the back seat like in a movie theatre
your worlds are opening to me, Cairo
my hieroglyph
LD is an image of а mouth above the surface
of water