Bosphorus

 

 

Why wings of history

lofting your palaced lands?

why sweet and rare

twisted swift as silk through my hands, my eyes

still see the tilted narrow streets ‘neath the golden dome

time and again with books or calm reflection

why would I escape thee

then, only to return, tossed

with downward passion to flood my winding way

and find you waiting, yet absent, ever and again?

 

Why things of mystery

in my callused hands?

why fleet, this care

swelling hot as Helios, as your antique dance and oriental sighs

fill the cool arched rooms of this itinerant home

with your molten looks and outward circumspection

why would I die for thee

and be reborn, lost

in a fashion, a mud-bottomed bay

as you brim over me, then ebb, ever and again?

 

Why rings of whispery

fable in my chaliced plans?

why wheat your hair

shining bold as Byzantium o’er your smoky blue glance, wise

in the slanting light, your stroking comb

drawing down the arcane hooks of our predilection

why would I wait or seek for thee

whate’er the cost

for my ration of beating blood, come what may?

That I find bright Bosphorus, and lose her, ever and again.

 

 

DRMcB