Dreams that, decades later, back at my hotel in Fez,A bucket of cold water was suddenly poured on.I'd gone to the hammam, stripped, and lay on a patternOf sopping tiles that might have spelled God's will.Steam shrouded the attendant methodically soapingThe knots of disappointment he'd knuckled in my back.He paused.
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Buckets of cold water were poured on all of a sudden.
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The buckets were filled with warm water.