Adhan in Reverse

It came from the east,
but not like morning
like someone rewinding God.

First the silence, then the echo.
Then the crackle of a mic,
like it was peeling open the sky.

In my sleep, I saw the muezzin as a boy.
Barefoot. Holding a transistor radio to his chest
like a mother would hold a dying bird.
His voice: bruised with longing.