Amari Hamadene

The Whole Caboodle of Love

If you guess a bit of this faded love 
who sinks in dizziness in the temple,
if you know how to resew the pieces
of the belvederes which drift under the day,
if you can imitate a eucalyptus
more than one minute in the crowd, 
smooth palms toward the hurricane,
if you are not ashamed to carry a hollyhock
by one’s arms straight, out at the height of any look,
if you understand the tiredness of the saints’ wombs
and their desire to lean to the sky,
then, you are ready.