2425
7.232
22.viii.26
not
Constantinople
Sultanahmet
every city holy sailing
every brick is blood
dead of the night arriving again
but here the night is alive
some things are still here
the queue of Bosphorus tankers
Niniveh quinquereme in a certain light
Hero, Leander swim for it
Yeats never made it though
everywhere men are carrying things
fridges and Turkish tea, your lunch
sometimes there are little wheels
cars will stop for each other
a little courtesy
and the sea does its thing
some rush, others beckon
it’s life at any other pace
a pavement could trip you up anywhere
there are several kinds of caution required
I am that kid in the sweetshop
tooth never sweet enough
I’m a great disappointment to them
come sunset when
it make you want to sing
golden like this sea
Yeats never made it here
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