Let me slip in a couple of short poems if I can find any.
This is called "Page from the Koran."
A small vellum environment, overrun
by black scorpions of Kufic script, their ranks all trigger
tail and gold vowel sac, at auction
this mild winter morning went for 600 Swiss francs.
By noon fire from the same blue heavens had hath erased Beirut.
Allah be praised, it said on crude handbills,
for guns and Nazarenes to shoot.
How gladly with proper words, said Wallace Stevens,
the soldier dies or kills.
God's very word then stung the heart to greed and rancor.
Yet not where the last glow touches one spare man
inked in against his minaret.
Letters so handled, they are life and hurt,
leaving the scribe immune.