Souvenirs The mountains merged their substance Into clouds and disappeared. I had my hands Out waiting, but when the rain came The water ran through my fingers. My hands held nothing but the shine. I remember most the smell Of being there in the damp cold air. I rushed down like rain Making my home in Cairo, Leaving no evidence that I'd been there - Whatever moisture had dissipated In the Maghreb along with Averroes on Cairen streets Where Naguib Mahfouz bought a cantaloupe And hurried home. I peered through his gate And was fended off by his guards. One must have them today in Cairo If one is to write honestly Whatever one thinks. Back here I need no guards. I've read so much I have nothing left to think.