Night ocean tilts in a porthole,
lights disclose a landing strip,
a customs stamp hovers in midair.

The exhausted Taxi sucks his cigarette
orange, then blue, then white.

I know nothing of this city,
miles of stalls, children
whirling sleepless, old men selling bricks.

Everything must be translated into my language:
circular streets, hotel with a neon star,
unlit steps, hard bed.

Even the touch of the fly at my cheek
is my ignorance, grooming me
for a whining transparent wing.