Photograph by ESO/B. Tafreshi, 2012
This is the time we break our fast, when the sun at last weakens and the waxing moon rises. I reach into clouds, part the darkness to take you, o pearl, o moon, in my hands: an illusion, but your light on my fingers is no less precious. The first thing we must do in the dimming is to slake our thirst; after the long burnt day, I could drink the mountains dry of dew.