They are burning tires in Tripoli.
I bought new perfume, sulfurous,
the bottle of clouded glass. Know this:
yours is the name that slid first to my lips
when the light became enormous
and the anxious voices flared
like starlings, dozens of them, alit,
alit. Only the rubber melts. Steel only chars
and the eclipse was disappointing,
just moon rags and that vague smell of lemon.