(This is a very old Spanish fairy tale that was told to me by my first Spanish teacher. It has lived in my heart since then and I am temporarily re-telling it in prose)

A sultan in Moorish Andalucia acquired a new bride, a beautiful young woman from the snowy far North, Scandinavia, in fact. The sultan was delighted with her gentle manners and exquisite looks, but grew concerned when he noticed that, day after day, she was discovered seated in one particular window that overlooked his garden behind the grand palace, the one with a view that took in the sierras. He asked one of her servants to inquire into her mistress's behaviour and learned that she was deeply depressed because she missed her home. A little annoyed but curious, the sultan approached his bride, determined to get to the bottom of the matter and change her demeanour.

"Why so melancholy, fair one?" he asked her and with a sweep of one jeweled hand indicated the magnificence of the room they currently occupied. "I have provided thee with many jewels and beautiful clothing, sweet perfumes and well-appointed chambers, such as these, where you can take your ease. What else must I do to bring a blush to your pale cheek?"

"Oh, my Lord," replied the maiden, "If you must understand, I am a maid from the far North, the land of snows and the Midnight Sun. Forgive me for my melancholy! I am grateful for your kindness and mercy but, quite simply, I wish I could look out this window and see only the cold white snow below! How my heart would rejoice for it would remind me of home!"

The sultan smiled because it was only the beginning of the summer. "Alas, fair one," he said and sighed, "That is impossible.
While there is snow in the distant mountains, we do never see it here in the valleys." And he reached out to touch his bride's soft cheek, saddened when tears flowed over his fingers. "But be of good cheer. I am the ruler of these lands and if we cannot go to the snows, then...I shall bring them here."

Several months went by and the princess became sadder and sadder to the point where she could no longer leave her bedchamber. And then, one crisp lovely late winter morning, the sultan's servants announced his entry into her bedroom. The sultan was shocked when he saw her, still beautiful but so thin and so pale. However, he was confident and urged her servants to dress her warmly and prepare her a chair. "My lovely one," he said to his bride, "I have something to show you. Come away with me. I think you will be pleased."

The sultan, his princess, and their retinue proceeded to the window where she had previously sat, the window looking over the garden, the one with the view of the sierras. And, lo! Everyone but the sultan gasped when the hangings were pulled aside to reveal a garden filled with...snow.

But it wasn't snow.

The garden was filled with almond tress, thousands upon thousands of almond trees as far as the eye could see, each almond tree bursting with life, each tree laden with fragile white flowers.

Do I need to say that the princess was stunned by her husband's loving gesture and that she recovered immediately?

As you expect, they lived happily ever after and every year, the princess had her beloved "snow".

The End.

Green grass, silver chain,
a low, slate sky waiting to rain.
My Golden Retriever finishes her yawn,
sits up, and takes off like a shot
towards the far end of the lawn.
In one, long wave the fine mesh links
are played out until the line yanks taut.
The dog never learns. My heart sinks.

From "Bird's Nest In Your Hair" by Brian Jobe

The full moon suddenly emerged.
Silvery beams caress your porcelain skin and my throat swells against my collar as I sigh with anticipation.
Your face thrown into Yes-No shadows
pulls me further into your mystery,
I close my eyes,
I hold my breath...
I plunge.

Bumper to bumper
Queen Anne on a Friday night
I'll get home sometime!

2.  Oh, this endless rain!
Summer will need to be dry
I'm becoming moss

3.  Steam rises softly
My barista is a god
Jet City morning

Somewhere in that
Angel's lair is my true
love, sleeping, waking,
Or maybe on his knees again,
Rosary-wrapped fist, his icy
Eyes staring straight ahead at Him hanging there,
The only man he truly adores,
The only one he'd give up
Love for, the only one
He allowed to brand his soul
With the image of
A sacred heart.

Yes, my true love is talking to the angels,
And letting them set the date.

Fifty feet above, the steady whir
of traffic and the slur of rubber
on asphalt sounds like a river.

On calm nights I can look down
at Lake Union and see the lights
of the city reflected in dark water.

No stars. Heaven here is I-5,
north to Canada, south to Mexico,
but below, as in an empty cathedral

filled with broken bottles,
random car parts, and old newspapers,
I lie here and breathe gas.

Some day these pillars will fall,
but listening to a river tonight
I'll sleep well under the overpass.

From "Bird's Nest In Your Hair" by Brian Jobe

The West Coast transformed.
Fire and Smoke strut their stuff
Hell outside my door.

You set a match to my prairie grass mind,
And I quickly spark,
Rushing upwards
Like Burning Man.

I reached out to you
When I didn't know who or what I was,
And you gave me a piece of paper
that stated, "Redeem at your own risk".

Zeppelin left for Heaven/
And I am still here--devastated.