the estranged soul

I fell asleep. Forgive me. Unfaithful, renouncing my heart, my city, like a bird that dreams of a star. My medieval lamp still on, glowing dimly, but glowing. When I awoke I dreamt I was somewhere else and that I was someone else. Led down brilliant white streets in Cordoba by the memory of you, the lustre of your eyes. The whole world was in flower, and you were the soul of the world. Or an unknown street in Buenos Aires, stumbling to speak the word. In Bukhara, where 'potato' means plum, and darkness falls all around me, near the 'hat bazzar'. There I saw you, and became someone else.