rose water riddle

one of the more unique hours of my life:

yesterday william and i were at the rotch library (architecture and planning) at mit. first of all, let me express how great this library is. it has beautiful teakwood tables, amazing architecture compendia, and a massive bust of michaelangelo's david.
william and i were studying - i was also intermittently reading spaces with water, volume 4. for a short study break we looked at a girl's photos on facebook. she is a supercute girl in currier with whom william was semi-involved in the past. a short woman sitting at the computer next to us looked over inquiringly and i explained to her: "his ex-girlfriend (not entirely true). and that's her new boyfriend." she laughed compassionately. bill went back to studying and i started talking with her. her name is leena and she encouraged us to study hard for our mcats, in part because she had gotten her MD and knew how hard it was (out here for a pimp). but she isn't a practicing physician. instead, she decided to be a writer. she has four books, one and a half of which are published. the first was a (published) book of poetry named rose water riddle, the second was a lyrical novel, the third a collection of short stories, and the fourth (almost published) a kind of melange. she took a unique route to becoming an MD and an even more unique route afterwards.
she grew up in suburban virginia as the child of pakistani immigrants. her last name, kizilbash, derives from the name of the murderous shiite militant group that helped to establish iran as a shiite nation (and essentially, forge a persian identity). after going to college and medical school, she finished an internship, some residency, and some fellowship in boston before deciding to take a break from medicine to write. she alternates between short spells of medical consulting and short spells of writing. her psychiatric training reflects itself in some (but not all) of her writing. she's a unique woman who has traveled and seen much, and i wish i could do her more justice.

Night Swim

Thirst of an ocean
Seabed of salt

Anchorless desire

Mapping her horizons
With his hand creases
Measurements of dark
Coal feeds the fire
Water burn

Part of her hip
Night swim.