Wet Dream

On the 974th night of covering my hair
I dream of me, on a beach, blue
bathing suit. Hairy legs and red
stretch marks on the fronts
of my thighs, backs of my knees.
I saw an art piece about a
coastal city where people ink
Quran verses on wood, stick
them in the sand. They reuse
the plaques by letting the saltwater
melt the words. Each component–
water, ink, wood, sand–is considered
holy. O my Lord! I think
what makes me a good poet
makes me a bad Muslim,
but I’d like to believe,
through Your Endless
Forgiveness, in my own goodness.
Me, my too many piercings, I
let the waves throw me,
never have I been unblest
in my invocation to You.