The brow, the braids, the paleness of the web
between the spread fingers, a span of years,
crosscutting with an energetic step,
or weary paces, leaning on a spear;
the heart wiped clean by heaven’s hands, assailed
by heaven’s fatal winds; the gaze, alert
for death in every furrowed cloud, or nailed
to where prostration is, amidst the dirt.
Recondite; waif; commander; guided one,
whom unthought fays and thoughtless stones believed in,
the name that Adam read beneath the throne,
bereaved; beseeched; bewailed; beloved; being.
When came a dispatch from the ultimate Real,
what felt the hand that touched the brilliant Seal?
— Khalid ibn Yaʿqub cohosts the podcast Subliminal Jihad.