Lodos Alba
Lodos Alba
stand together in the centerless city
on the brown bridge chipped in light
watching fisherman cast olta kamisi
hooks baited with smaller fish
to catch the larger fish writhing in the Golden Horn
without preference for place
slip curiously down the stone stairway
mute with the hours
the cool heft,
collected in stone
polished by sandles
Cami, the minarets pointing nowhere
the water is also a bridge
and the land is flooding the sea
and the men selling fish sandvic from boats
leave the bones inside the meat
without preference for time
climb the indecisive walls
Theodisian moats fetid with soil
men vanish into bright caves
a socket where the highway cuts through
it will also fill with soil and fish and weight
while the wind moves over us all
without a body or thought
decay without light or mood
the bowels of the city are filled with older cities
as our gods have the skulls of older gods
you reach the sea at Sela and turn to face the sun
the wind touches you both
shared and unsatisfying
_____________________________
An Original Poem by Scott Beauchamp