Bobby Larsson
An evening with Scheherazade
Blue lanterns, boats on the river. Too late to
work. Purple shine rising. Cross of serenity.
Whispers of close gathering, strangers by the
well, traders from faraway lands, ornate
balconies above. On the drapes, shadows
dancing: slow, slow. The mistress swallows
another one. The eyes see it every night while
the ears only hear timid frogs and silent birds