The Language of Grief

Poetry on Palestine, longing, and love

I spoke your name to the dunes,
their silence a mirror to my grief.
Each grain of sand—
a word I never said,
a touch I never offered.

How vast is the desert of longing,
how endless its horizon.
No shadow falls here but yours,
no wind moves but to echo
the sound of your absence.

Come back,
and I will pour oceans into your palms,
spill my breath to unbury the stars
hi…