Is this egypt yet?

IS THIS EGYPT YET?

I.

On our lagoon, a wind-surfer

charges the breeze

his billowing blares out,

an uprising

of light, a reshuffling

of low clouds.

How he ousts the magpies

roaring into

dawn's upfall,

wearing white folded,

this glare

that shakes whispers out of

sea-smell.

II.

Only the wind is listening

to sand's blessing:

years that walk between

bearing away

shadows of pyramids,

stepped tan clouds,

rumors of revolution.

III.

These are the ocher tanks,

this is the red and black flag.

We could be clambering up,

we could be marching.

Here are the shards

of brick, of glass.

This is accretion's

heartbeat of release.

IV.

In the side garden:

tables set up with heaters

against evening cold,

arugula, avocado,

a light shrimp salad.

We sit with our glasses

of dry white wine,

toasting departure, arrival.

What else shall we order

this special night?

We ask for an entrée:

brussels sprouts, roast camel.

The main square a block away

bristles with little lights.