The poet-lover — lean Iranian man of 45, sharp dark eyes, simple undyed linen qamis under a plain grey-blue woollen robe, ink-stained right hand pressed flat against his chest…Extreme close on the poet-lover's ink-stained right hand hovering above a sheet of hand-inked paper on a flat stone surface — the reed pen arrested mid-stroke, a dark droplet suspended at its tip…Pre-dawn blue hour, the stone doorway of a mountain dwelling cut into the cliff face — worn limestone jambs, aged plaster above, a tiny brass oil lamp throwing amber warmth inside…Blazing high-noon white light pours through a narrow vertical crack in a pale cliff face and falls in a column of pure radiance onto a flat stone seat — the beloved's place, now empty…The poet-lover's ink-stained right hand cradling his own chest over the grey-blue robe, his face turned slightly downward with an expression of quiet, almost tender pain…The poet-lover walks a narrow cliff path lined with tall poplars at late-afternoon golden light — but the dominant colour is the intense living green of the poplar leaves backlit by the low sun…Wide punctuation shot — the entire Alborz valley at blue dusk: ranges of dark green ridgelines descending into shadow, a cold teal sky deepening above…Silver moonrise over the mouth of a narrow stone lane between high mud-brick walls — cool blue-silver light washing the lane's worn cobblestones…
