As long I have these saddlebags. (New poems).(Poem)

 
As long as I have these saddlebags 
 
   As long as I have these saddlebags 
   I think I will be all right. 
   The sun in their weave, their wool stained 
   like a stained glass window, 
   their scorpion shapes and stylized camels 
   and cities with gates locked against marauders--those 
   clinched and vigilant symbols 
   doze like evolved watchdogs on my sofa. 
 
   One day I will lose this coin. 
   But as long as I have it, 
   I am walking the Street of the Fortunate 
   above the blue fabric, the silver scales of the sea--through 
   Cherries-that-Weigh-down-the-Bough Street 
   on foot down the Street of the Little Holy Wisdom 
 
   keeping in my pocket the coin that will 
   pay my way across the Golden Horn 
   in a long wooden craft, not new, 
   the boatman singing above the pulling oars. 
 
   The journeys I bring these saddlebags along on 
   are slow marches 
   over mountains freckled ...