Wim Swaan, Morocco—Fes—Najjarin Fountain—Unpublished Image 2, c. 1967 or earlier
Photograph
Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program
Say yes! to the open-scabbed dog
that accompanies you
through the village—
and yes! to the wood ash—
that rises-up daily
from the workers rooms—
to the farmer on his tractor
who from across a broad
distance calls to you,
bon jour, madame, ca va?
on your first Atlas Mountain
morning in Oumass.
Say oui! to the tribe of cats
and wood turtles that appear along
the lip of the pool
waiting for a bite of the sunbathers
bananas. Taste yes!
in the breakfast of argon butter
and almonds; tattoo yes!
to the remaining you and
the changing you—
to the first full-body scrub.
Watch as parts of you roll
and scatter as the Moroccan
woman leads you from the steam hall,
to shower, to bath (yes!)
anointed with oils of local rose.
And so you’ve learned to travel
through multiple waters and sky—
in the glide and drift of it—
like tree goats that forage,
then build their lives mid-air—
knowing yes! as the one chosen thing.