My Pashmina

When I first arrived
you smelled of sweet love

Now
you smell of fire

From the sizzle of the hazy lava sunrise beyond the dunes

From the incense snaking through storytime air
illuminated by an oil lamp

From the campfire flames
of the orange veil tribal dance
and my bare feet on the cool-silk desert sand
and the Siwa drum
beneath the shooting star night sky

From the cigarette I smoked
not because I smoke
but because as we roared over the crests of sandy mountains
and plummeted into the earth and the dry
I felt I needed fire in my lungs

Now as I am about to leave
I long once again for the smell of sweet love
But also I pray
you never lose the fire.