    Sentence 1: Of how, when tea was done,  and everyone had stood,He reached for my  head, put his hands over it,And gently  pulled me to his chest, which smelledOf  dung smoke and cinnamon and mutton  grease.I could hear his wheezy breathing  now, like the prophet's Last whispered  word repeated by the faithful.Then he  prayed for what no one had time to  translate--His son interrupted the old man  to tell him a groupOf snake charmers  sought his blessing, and a blind thief.The  saint pushed me away, took one long  look,Then straightened my collar and  nodded me toward the door.