go and ride a thousand days, my clear-eyed messengers, scour all points of the compass and find me a glimpse of iridescence for shining guidance into the unknown on the day that I die
erratic echoes of a swallow's cries faint and shrill, lost midget amid the persian blue vault of turquoise and gentian tiles, pool of cool noon, in iridescent samarkand. the first shy note strikes the oud