Agadez       Chief Ag Litue on his camel  Beard and face covered, nose straining against green silk, you peer over camel's extended neck, lunging rope hung loosely.  We may have married if we had met before camels were in vogue.  You pose on your throne behind the proud assertion of the camel's hump, wife to an image.  I want to ride into the desert, black cape wrapped around my arms, stupid inside your easy fabric.    Andi Ouloulou at home in Agadez That small wart beside          your nose resembles a nipple.  Skin smooth                         as leather,  collar bone a resting place for necklace of stones, tiny amulets carved from camel's teeth.  Those bones a grave, broad forehead bare, except where crimson               scarf around your head meets taut skin.  The set              of your mouth and squinting                     eyes define                                       your art.   Saidi Ouinba at home in Agadez Stars crisscross your body.  The hot desert sun and bleached travelling shirt  you wear blinds me, white of your neck, circling behind a dark pool, your back a map marking the stone wall pushing off forehead and nose, splintered shadows, light reflecting from jewels.  I keep hearing about the Tuarez, the cracked stone wall.   - Lily Iona MacKenzie