Petra

The road curls and curls into the hills,

Fragile gamble across bare shimmering distances,

Rock-scumbled wastes of russet dust that dip

And fold, concealing desiccated wadi beds.

In winter, glacial winds drive sleet-blizzards

And crouched rocks glint in the sombre light.

In summer, shrill silence and shrinking heat

Invest the motionless air with expectation;

Bleached earth phases from ochre to violet,

Faraway horizons vibrate with cobalt glare.


White rocks in the Bab el Siq irradiate white light,

Still but for the rattle of stones underfoot,

As the hills close in stealthily around;

Deeper, narrower the high gorge plunges...

Squinting little wadis, glutted with tumble-boulders,

Intersect at intervals from either side,

And sometimes a tantalizing flight of worn steps

Rises, leading to nowhere at all.


Towering rock-walls glow with stratified hues,

Ranging from pearlwhite to mellowest yellow,

Gold and madder, red, carmine and mauve.

One moment, exploratory sunlight slants down

Across a curving pirouetting surface,

Nubbed pinnacles conspiring with the sky;

The next, all is horrible shadow, sullen shades

Convulsed, pining for light, as the traveller

Stumbles on, disheartened.Suddenly, the chasm

Opens wide onto vivid greenery and white blooms,

But instantly the rocks press in again, relentless,

Higher, tighter, more menacing even than before.


Near its end, the intestinal ravine clamps deadly

In doomy twilight, where the echo of scuttling

Boot-crunched stones rebounds .Ahead, a squinting

Sunlight-fissure glints, with weird contortions,

A keyhole to be picked or unlocked.

Black-framed, a classical façade, a quester’s castle

Rises up, revealed, as you exit, transfigured,

Into miraculous dazzle, blinking at the peach-coloured

Treasury’s hallucination, chiselled into rock.


From the High Place of Sacrifice, you look out

Over the deserted city’s eerie mysterious maze,

North to rumbling uplands, south to low sere hills.

At nightfall, waiting spectres emerge among the stones

That mortal hands once touched and cherished,

Gathering at the altar, eager to clutch at your arm

In the chill, to greet you and explain themselves.

Under the Nabateans’ dolphin stars, nightsurfing,

Empty tombs disintegrate into darkness,

Secrets easily reclaimed by the desert air.