Dreams that, decades later, back at my hotel in Fez,A bucket of cold water was suddenly poured on.I'd gone to the hammam, stripped, and lay on a patternOf sopping tiles that might have spelled God's will.Steam shrouded the attendant methodically soapingThe knots of disappointment he'd knuckled in my back.He paused.
Buckets of cold water were poured on all of a sudden.